Let your song be delicate. 
 The skies declare 
No war ? the eyes of lovers 
 Wake everywhere. 

Let your voice be delicate. 
 How faint a thing 
Is Love, little Love crying 
 Under the Spring. 

Let your song be delicate. 
 The flowers can hear: 
Too well they know the tremble, 
 Of the hollow year. 

Let your voice be delicate. 
 The bees are home: 
All their day's love is sunken 
 Safe in the comb. 

Let your song be delicate. 
 Sing no loud hymn: 
Death is abroad . . . Oh, the black season! 
 The deep ? the dim!