Lie at twilight down amongst the grass.
Let the brown gorse stoop above you there.
Let the crushed fern tangle in your hair,
Close beside a road where few men pass.
Breathe the scent of little, earthly things.
Let the twilight touch you, breast and brow,
As a harper, weaving wistful strings,
Tells the gleam of star-flowers withered now.
Drink the cup of silence deep for me,
Knowing that my spirit stands beside.
Let the purple dust, the lover sea,
Beauty’s passion, take you for a bride.
Yet, if one beloved should be near,
If his lips be tender on thy hair,
Take the hour, nor think my ghost must tread
Home on lonely ways with bended head.
For to-night, forgetting ancient bars,
I am master over wind and stars.
I can make the dying clover sweet —
Charm the stars like blossoms round your feet;
Lips that kindle into holy speech
Whisper but again the words I teach;
Arms that hold you give you but again
Shadow of our splendour and our pain.
Lie at twilight, where the grasses twine. . . .
Life’s long kiss against your eyes is mine.