As my lady and I walked a summer’s route,
She requested of me,
Begging I not be mute,
A sorrow of mine,
Which, to my love of her, I impute.
I delayed but a trice,
Then from the heart did I flute:

“Sorrow that the sunrise is no longer a lover,
but only a friend;
That I stay abed at my former affection’s hour,
lest I miss the beauty of your waking wend.

Sorrow that the ocean is no longer mystic,
but only a fact;
That the calling waves rouse not my answering heart-beats;
so does the ocean your mystery lack.

Sorrow that the highway has become a stranger,
we erstwhile brothers;
That the far-off view flames not my need for proximity;
my fire for you douses all others.

Sorrow………………”

Here was I halted
By my honey-breathed love,
And her eyes, they were those of the weariest.
“Danny, oh, Danny, stop tiring me so;
And answer me, love, this time serious.”

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