Now when I see your face, sweetheart, I know
What the rose feels that through the chilling night
Yearns for the sun, despairingly, when lo!
The sudden warmth, the glorious, great light!

Now when I hear your voice, sweetheart, I know
What the rose feels that drought hath almost slain,
That, thirsting, droops disconsolate, when lo!
The swift, cold air, the rapture of the rain!

M Y heart hath its Springtime, yea,
Its thrill of primal happiness,
Its swift, keen days of gold and gray,
Its crescent moon of promises.

My heart hath had its Winter, O
The barren land, the empty ways,
The awful silence of the snow
Through the untrodden nights and days!

Alas, my heart that might not know
The sweet, deep peace of Summer's prime!
Only for you the crushing snow
And Spring's unrest in blossom time.