Hast thou heard a music sweeter, Than my wildest dreams intone? Hast thou found a joy completer, Than a pleasure I have known?
Willie, Willie, wand'ring ever, Whither wend thy wayward feet? Farther still must we dissever, Only thus again to meet?
Wander on I would not stay thee-- Fain were I a wand'rer too. Drinking where the founts delay thee, Thirsting all thy deserts through.
What! though little thou hast gathered, Golden wealth is that I ween. What! though nothing thou hast fathered, Careless fancies are thy yean.
All thy trees mayhap are fruitless; All thy hopes be ships afar, All thy plans mayhap are bootless,-- Still thou hast the eastern star.
I, in peace and plenty, yearning, Yearning for thy wand'rer's crust Weary, aching, burning, burning, Fevered failure of the wander-lust.
Wander on, mayhap I'll meet thee, Wand'ring in the waning glow Rhiming still for joy to greet thee, Piping on thy piccolo.
'Tis the maiden April calling,-- Calling to the languid South,-- Where she lounges in the sunshine With a secret at her mouth.
Where she lounges with the sunshine Closely fondled to her breast. Calling for that fickle lover, Wanders with his old unrest.
And her lips are full and luscious, Where a thousand joys have kissed-- Ah! I must unto her garden, Lo! I tremble for the tryst.
For her couch it is a languor Cushioned for a passion rest, Woven out of dreams and sunshine, Pillowed with her pulsing breast.
And I clasp her warm embraces, Kissing deep her dewy lips, Like a bee upon a blossom, Where the honey breathes and drips;
Lie within her warm embraces Till the wildest passions wane-- Fall to dreaming of Nirvana Pictured through a golden rain.
There adream with dreaming April In the gentle southern land, Hearing footsteps onward pressing, Only she might understand.
Feel the cool wind fan the forehead, Drink the mellow wine he brings, Till the spirit drunk to fervor Sweeps its own Æolean strings.
Hear the music of the vanished, Join the far and lyric throng Of the rare and radiant singers In the starry skies of song.
Hear with soul all hushed and quickened, Wrapt in fine unconscious ears, Music singing unto music, In the bright Æolean spheres.
Till the Past is wed to Present In the golden hall of Time, And the Future brings a garland From his pure and crystal clime.