VI
But what is in your heart, my dear?
If every hope is spun of fear,
And each delight is called despair
By those who think and those who dare.
If every hope is spun of fear,
And each delight is called despair
By those who think and those who dare.
What good to you is blue and gold?
A love unlit, a tale untold,
A dream undreamt, which tries to keep
Secure within a fort of sleep2
A love unlit, a tale untold,
A dream undreamt, which tries to keep
Secure within a fort of sleep2
What though your gleaming hair be spun
Out of the fabric of the sun?
What if the gentian in your eyes
Is stolen from the deepest skies ¢
The sun will set, the brightness fade,
Into a grey decline of shade.
Then, dearest, let it not be said
Your eyes were drowned in tears unshed,
Frightened you locked your love away
Into the cold and sure decay
Of unused things, that voiceless die
Without a laugh, without a cry—
Out of the fabric of the sun?
What if the gentian in your eyes
Is stolen from the deepest skies ¢
The sun will set, the brightness fade,
Into a grey decline of shade.
Then, dearest, let it not be said
Your eyes were drowned in tears unshed,
Frightened you locked your love away
Into the cold and sure decay
Of unused things, that voiceless die
Without a laugh, without a cry—
16
