The Lost Name

THE voice of my true love is low

And exquisitely kind,

Warm as a flower, cold as snow —

I think it is the Wind.

My true love's face is white as mist

That moons have lingered on,

Yet rosy as a cloud, sun-kissed —

I think it is the Dawn.

The breath of my true love is sweet

As gardens at day's close

When dew and dark together meet —

I think it is a Rose.

My true love's heart is wild and shy

And folded from my sight,

A world, a star, a whispering sigh —

I think it is the Night.

My true love's name is lost to me,

The prey of dusty years,

But in the falling Rain I see

And know her by her tears!