III.
The Tree of Song
 

I sang my songs for the rest,
   For you I am still;
The tree of my song is bare
   On its shining hill.

For you came like a lordly wind,
   And the leaves were whirled
Far as forgotten things
   Past the rim of the world.

The tree of my song stands bare
   Against the blue --
I gave my songs to the rest,
   Myself to you.