I Know You and I Am Troubled

They come always with gifts

In grape bloom twilight or in the

Morning when dreams throb and silver

The tide waters of sleep; they come

With new forms and new faces, spring

Rising in the blood to greet them, song

Wakening down crimsoned hills.

I know you for one of them and I

Am troubled because you out of all

Bring a white lily, the flower of life

In death, the still flower, the messenger,

The pale one to scent the memory;

I know you and I am troubled

Because I think now you bring me

This final gift. Have you no word

To speak? Why do you bring a white

Lily? I think the crimson songs

Are still. Will the still air never sing?