Thoughts

I gave my thoughts a golden peach,

A silver citron tree;

They clustered dumbly out of reach

And would not sing for me.

I built my thoughts a roof of rush,

A little byre beside;

They left my music to the thrush

And flew at eveningtide.

I went my way and would not care

If they should come and go;

A thousand birds seemed up in air,

My thoughts were singing so.