Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,The sunset hangs on a cloud; A golden storm of glittering sheaves, Of fair and frail and flutteringleaves,The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to a voice that is callingTo my heart in the voice of the wind: My heart is weary and sad and alone, For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone,And why should I stay behind?
ALABASTER
Like this alabaster box whose art Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart, Carven with delicate dreams and wrought With many a subtle and exquisite thought.
Therein I treasure the spice and scent Of rich and passionate memories blent Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove, Of song and sorrow and life and love.
