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If itWere lighter touchThan petal of flower restingOn grass, oh still too heavy it were,Too heavy!

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The old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that I Should weep?

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Oh Lady, let the sad tears fall To speak thy pain, Gently as through the silver dusk The silver rain. Oh, let thy bosom breathe its grief In such soft...more

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Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.

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Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart's Shed blood.