When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wi
So, art thou feahered, art thou flown,
Thou naked thing?—and canst alone
Upon the unsolid summer
Spring rides no horses down the hill,
But comes on foot, a goose-girl still.
And all the loveliest
Love, if I weep it will not matter,
And if you laugh I shall not care;
Foolish am I to think about
Oh, lay my ashes on the wind
That blows across the sea.
And I shall meet a fisherman
Out of Capri
There it was I saw what I shall never forget
And never retrieve.
Monstrous and beautiful to human