Oh do not Pity me because I gave My heart when lovely April with a gust¹, Swept down the singing lanes with a cool wave； And do not pity me because I thrust Aside your love that once burned as a flame. I was as thirsty as a windy flower That bares its bosom² to the summer shower And to the unremembered winds that came. Pity me most for moments yet to be, In the far years, when some day I shall turn Toward this strong path up to our little door And find it barred to all my ecstasy³. No sound of your warm voice the winds have borne- Only the crying sea upon the shore.