The Lover asks Forgiveness because of His many Moods

    With words lighter² than air，

    Or hopes that in mere³ hoping flicker⁴ and cease；

    Crumple⁵ the rose in your hair；

    And cover your lips with odorous twilight⁶ and say，

    ‘O Hearts of wind-blown flame！

    O Winds， older than changing of night and day，

    That murmuring and longing⁸ came

    From marble cities loud with tabors of old

    In dove-grey faery lands；

    From battle-banners， fold upon purple fold，

    Queens wrought⁹ with glimmering¹⁰ hands；

    That saw young Niamh hover¹¹ with love-lorn face

    Above the wandering tide；

    And lingered in the hidden desolate¹² place

    Where the last Phoenix¹³ died，

    And wrapped the flames above his holy head；

    And still murmur⁷ and long：

    O Piteous Hearts， changing till change be dead

    In a tumultuous song‘：

    And cover the pale blossoms of your breast

    With your dim heavy hair，

    And trouble with a sigh for all things longing for rest

    The odorous twilight there.