Poems: SONNET -- THE POET TO NATURE

I have no secrets from thee, lyre sublime, / My lyre whereof I make my melody. / I sing one way like the west wind through thee, / With my whole heart, and hear thy sweet strings chime.

But thou, who soundest in my tune and rhyme, / Hast tones I wake not, in thy land and sea, / Loveliness not for me, secrets from me, / Thoughts for another, and another time.

And as, the west wind passed, the south wind alters / His intimate sweet things, his hues of noon, / The voices of his waves, sound of his pine,

The meanings of his lost heart, -- this thought falters / In my short song -- 'Another bard shall tune / Thee, my one Lyre, to other songs than mine.'