Les plus lus ▸
False Dawn
My apple trees have blossomed in a night,
And pale green moonlight bathes their rose and white
With a strange wine that makes the pulses throb.
A sleepy robin now mistakes the light,
And his soft doubting note sounds like a sob
Voicing the thought that draws my heart-strings tight.
What Life could give you is not yours to take
Nor mine to give--and yet to-night I wake
Remembering your giving. But the note
Of that moon-haunted robin must not shake
My calm belief that you--austere, remote--
Need nothing I can ever mar or make.