The White Birds
I would that we were,my beloved,white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor,before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight,hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts,my beloved,a sadness that may not die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers,dew-dabbled,the lily and rose;
Ah,dream not of them,my beloved,the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam:I and you!
I am haunted by numberless islands,and many a Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us,and Sorrow come near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be,
Were we only white birds,my beloved,buoyed out on the foam of the sea!