This Fixed Wild Day in Spring

If mine be too quick a loving-heart!

Forgive my vices snatched in running-haste!

The perfect stain of being afraid of dying young!

 

That lives a lifetime in a moment

As if to right or wrong thee!

I’ve spoiled the song too many times

 

With letters from my flute-heart

That you will never care to read

The warm pages of my heart’s paper-light

 

If my affections be too thirsty a spring-like day!

Do not say that I was wrong to be simple thus

But know that I was born, as a timid wish

 

To love the roots that bury everywhere

That burst and shatter and renews the spirit

Of the forms that love, and the love in forms

 

My body touched the prayers

Of only a few women I adored.