Poésie antiguaise et barbudienne
The April night is still and sweetWith flowers on every tree;Peace comes to them on quiet feet,But not to me.
Evening, and all the birdsIn a chorus of shimmering soundAre easing their hearts of joyFor miles around.
It is not a word spoken,Few words are said;Nor even a look of the eyesNor a bend of the head,But only a hush of the heart
It will not change nowAfter so many years;Life has not broken itWith parting or tears;Death will not alter it,
Less than the cloud to the wind,Less than the foam to the sea,Less than the rose to the storm,Am I to thee.
The wind is tossing the lilacs,The new leaves laugh in the sun,And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
I love my hour of wind and light,I love men's faces and their eyes,I love my spirit's veering flight
The faery forest glimmeredBeneath an ivory moon,The silver grasses shimmeredAgainst a faery tune.
Strephon kissed me in the spring,Robin in the fall,But Colin only looked at meAnd never kissed at all.
In the spring I asked the daisiesIf his words were true,And the clever, clear-eyed daisiesAlways knew.