< The Eighth Sin
For works with similar titles, see Song.
SONG.
O cherry-tree, let slip your petals bright
A whirling flight
Of April snow,
O let them eddy in the windy height
Then drift upon the grass below.
O cool blue harbours of twilight
Unmoor your galleons white
And trim their spars
Come plunging through the purple night
The great armada of the stars.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is licensed under Creative Commons - Attribution - Sharealike. Additional terms may apply for the media files.