In three parallel stanzas, the speaker explains a recurring way of experiencing the world: he is drawn not to direct experiences but to what they leave behind. He worships the sun not for its light but for the shadows it casts beneath trees, where he builds dreamy summer thoughts. He adores a woman not for her love itself but for the memory of that love, which stays green even after love fades. And he listens to a bird not for its voice but for the silence that follows the song, a silence he calls fresh and musical, linked to a “Death-Land” toward which he feels himself turning. The mood is quiet, wistful, and contemplative—full of tenderness for absence, aftermath, and the strange sweetness of things once removed from their source. It celebrates not possession or brightness, but the softer, lingering edges of experience.
Lines — Summary
The sun I worship, Not for the light, but for the shadows of the trees he draws : O shadows welcome like an angel's bower, Where I build Summer-day dreams !
Not for her love, but for the love's memory, The woman I adore : Love may die, but not the memory eternally green— The well where I drink Spring ecstasy.
To a bird's song I listen, Not for the voice, but for the silence following after the song : O Silence fresh from the bosom of voice ! — Melody from the Death-Land whither my face does ever turn!