Her Meadow

Dear heart, don’t

Give in now. Don’t allow

These flutterings to flitter

Over meadows claimed by another.

Though sweet songs may drift

From there to here

And stir you so,

You do know

They are sung by lips

That know the names

Of every flower thence

And the love

Of many full-blossomed summers.

The one who gardens there

Already shares in the fragrant air;

She belongs to the meadow

As the meadow belongs to her.