"I am a young girl who laughs and sings,

for I am soon to be the bride of spring!"

So sang my love, and straightaway my heart

thrilled into a wren, wings quivering:

"I too am young, and in these still bare woods

my anthems praise, with tinkling bluebells

and toy-trumpetings of daffodils,

the buds of love that blossom in your eyes!"

But even as it sang I saw inside her

something die, and where a warmth had been

there was a winter. "If you are wise", she cried,

"run from these flames, let their ash grow cold;

for in these eyes the love that you have seen

flowers not for you, but for another."

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