Pot of Gold

In the fabulous days when fair leaves were all falling,
In the reign of their colorful rainbows of life,
I was everywhere shouting, your name of fame calling,
O Mistress of Singing, won’t you be my wife?
Then I stopped and I listened, I heard many voices,
But none was the clear one and dear one I knew,
Till the wind began rising in strength that rejoices,
And out of the bird-choiring forest came you!

In the swing of your hands there were musical measures,
In the swing of your legs there were rhythms of song,
And your body, I noted, was playing with pleasures
As it swung back and forth in your striding along.
On your face was a gladness of spring out of season,
So enthralled with self-willing as you looked to the sky,
And I felt in the gasp of my breath there was reason
To be loved and to love, and to live and to die.

Then the green of your eyes held me tight in their seeing,
And the black of your hair waved in glory out-flung,
And your lips spread apart in the joy of their being
To catch me and clasp me in song as you sung!

I was caught, I was clasped, my whole soul was a-fire!

I was sound-waves of soaring sent off in faint flight!

Yet I looked from my height, saw you rise ever higher,

And the speech of your eyes was my equal in sight!

 
Now our voices are joined in duets ever living,
And the world is beneath us and can’t even count,
As we close in a kiss of the bliss of our giving
And the end of the rainbows is us without doubt!

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