The Seed and the Flower

I have forgotten why it was I laughed;But well I knowIt was because, that idle day, I quaffedSuch brimming cups of merriment,That many days an overflowRan in my finger-tips unspent.And so it was I shaped arightSo gay a Scherzo as my Birch-trees in Sunlight.

I have forgotten why it was I wept;But I rememberIt was because awhile my pulses keptThe beat of sorrow, that I foundFor my Sonata, the December,Those melodies of yearning soundThat were so beautiful, you said,I must have dreamed them in a dream where Kreisler played.

And surely, when that I am dead some day,The procreant earth,Though all my music be forgot, will say,"Here lies what was a tuneful heart,And with its aid I brought to birthThis triumph of my spring-time art,Where, to his nest that softly swings,The orchard-oriole in the blossoming cherry sings."

For K.M.1910.