University of Virginia Library


107

ONCE, LONG AGO

Once, long ago, my own winged words
Bore me I knew not where,
As in a stormy spring the birds
Are blown about in air.
Now I am master of my theme
To sing or to refrain,
To analyse the prisoned dream
Or give it life again.
I may not doubt that truth belongs
To this serener day,
But some lost magic touched those songs
That went their own wild way.