I love you, silent statue: for your sake
My songs in prayer up-reach
Frail hands of flame-like speech,
That some mauve-silver twilight you make wake!

I love you more than swallows love the south.
As sunflowers turn and turn
Towards the sun, I yearn
To press warm lips against your cold white mouth.

I love you more than scarlet-skirted dawn,
At sight of whose spread wings
The great world wakes and sings,
Forgetful of the long vague dark withdrawn.


I love you most at purple sunsetting,
When night with feverish eyes
Comes up the fading skies. . . .
I love you with a passion past forgetting!