These Little Songs

These little Songs,

Found here and there,

Floating in air

By forest and lea,

Or hill-side heather,

In houses and throngs,

Or down by the sea -

Have come together,

How, I can't tell:

But I know full well

No witty goose-wing

On an inkstand begot 'em;

Remember each place

And moment of grace,

In summer or spring,

Winter or autumn

By sun, moon, stars,

Or a coal in the bars,

In market or church,

Graveyard or dance,

When they came without search,

Were found as by chance.

A word, a line,

You may say are mine;

But the best in the songs,

Whatever it be,

To you, and to me,

And to no one belongs