THE LOVER ASKS FORGIVENESS BECAUSE OF HIS MANY MOODS
 
 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 face
 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.