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So love between us is over?--But the mountains and sea remain,
The blue of the world at twilight, and the sound of the summer rain.
The touch of the face of flowers is soft as a child at the breast;
The trees of the wood bring healing, and the far-away starfields rest.


I am weary of love and passion--the fever and fume and fret--
I will go back to Nature, and creep in her heart and forget;
I will be free as the sunlight and follow the wind's wild call,
Till I come to the dews of her bosom in the last long sleep of all.