If this importunate heart trouble your peace

With words lighter than air,

Or hopes that in mere hoping flicker and cease

Crumple the rose in your hair;

And cover your lips with odorous twilight and say,“O Hearts of wind-blown flame

O Winds, older than changing of night and day,

That murmuring and longing came

From marble cities loud with tabors of old

In dove-grey faery lands;

From battle-banners, fold upon purple fold,

Queens wrought with glimmering hands;

That saw young Niamh hover with love-lorn fac Above the wandering tide;

And lingered in the hidden desolate place

Where the last Phoenix died,

And wrapped the flames above his holy head

And still murmur 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 uqjfrNZKpn2UqBuQ5gvzBquP/kUCnvy94iqXNDRyn5kAlGFdwgD5qdh6lK3YCgkS