Chide me not, darling, that I sing 
Familiar thoughts and metres old: 
Nay, do not scold
My spirit's childish uttering.

I know not why 't is that or this
I murmur to you thus or so: 
Only I know
It throbs across my silences, 

It blows over my heart,?a long
Infinite wind, again, again! 
Again! and then
My life kneels down into a song.