There you—here I,
Not all the sweetness of your face,
Nor joy of your fair company,
Can bring us to one place.

I think of you—
A picture framed in sombre trees,
Eyes where a gleam of sky breaks through,
Grey days on summer seas.

The Western Wind,
That runs the prairie like a flame,
Bears in his fragrant garments twined
A whisper of your name.

In some far land,
When I desire your comradeship
And the cool frankness of your hand,
The sweetness of your lip.

Then do you send
A blown kiss in the wind's long hair;
And though I sleep at the world's end
Yet will it find me there.