Without words, for words are gems but a song's
A flower, more in keeping with the marching hours
Now passing us by in an entourage.
Time is our signature, and melody,
To the steps of what we hear. A coronet
Of daisies for your brow! And more flowers'
Lyric, sweet scent upon the wind, your robe.
Out of guitars and flutes, man and woman
Vocalizing the sweet nonsense of the heart
Even past the silence of birds a murmur of roses
Yielding to the morning's glory, herald and dew.
Out of these words a sweet nonsense of song
Under whose heavy hand I hope I do not wrong.