Surely some angle shed 
Flowers for the maiden head, 
Ephemeral flowers ! 
I yearn, not comforted. 
My heart has vainly bled 
Through age-long hours. 
To thee my spirit turns ; 
My bright soul aches and burns, 
As a dry valley yearns 
For spring and showers. 
 
 
Splendid, remote, a fane 
Alone and unprofane, 
I know thy breast. 
These bitter tears of pain 
Flood me, and fall again 
Not into rest. 
Me, whose sole purpose is 
To gain one gainless kiss, 
And make a bird’s my bliss, 
Shrined in that nest. 
 
36