Your Songs

If I have you then I have everything In One, and that One nothing of them all Nor all compounded, and within the wall Beneath the tower I wait to hear you sing: Love breathing low above the breast of Spring, Pressing her heart with baby heart and small From baby lips love-syllables lets fall And strokes with gentle hand her quivering wing. You come rejoicing all the wilderness, Filling with praise the land to joy unknown, Fresh from that garden whose perfumes have blown Down through the valley of the cypresses— O heart, you know not your own loveliness, Nor these your songs, for they are yours alone.