Go now and speak to her gently;
Drink the warm tears from her eyes
And with small words be kind.
Go quietly, and with surprise.
She is too rich with concealed sweet,
Too rich with a new song.
She cannot walk the ragged roads of grief,
She cannot weep too long.
In the cool green of night
You will be proud of her fingers in your hair,
And of her delicate voice, restlessly
Saying words exquisite and rare.
And when April moves with faint music
Over the earth’s green fur
This will be a spent dream. Go
Gently now and speak to her.