I sing of sorrow, I sing of weeping. I have no sorrow.
I only borrow From some tomorrow Where it lies sleeping, Enough of sorrow To sing of weeping.
Heartbreak that is too new Can not be used to make Beauty that will startle; That takes an old heartbreak.
Old heartbreaks are old wine. Too new to pour is mine.
Your kiss lies on my face Like the first snow Upon a summer place.
Bewildered by that wonder, The grasses tremble under The thing they do not know. I tremble even so.