Lines
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!