Bare are the boughs where Love took cover,
Once in the spring:
Nor bird to bird, nor lover to lover,
Whisper or sing.
A low moon floodeth the level meadows
With frosty light:
Sheep come softly through mist as shadows,
Grey in the night.
And over pasture and plough and fallow
My dreams go,
For thy mouth to kiss and thine hands to hallow,
Thine heart to know.