The high summer meadows of my soul
Have known no other foot than yours.
The secret waves of my heartswell deep
Have broken on no other shores.
The sky, that headlong, blinding heaven,
That weave of blue beyond these bars,
Will never dizzy me with looking up,
For I've flown above it, and found the stars.
But nothing endures, our lives are changing;
Patterns of sunlight and shade, rearranging.
Yet still that larksong, O joyously lifting,
The notes outpouring, soaring clear and true;
Then falling, in pure drifting clouds of sounding,
As my heart, once, gently, fell to you.
