If This Importunate Heart Trouble Your Peace With Words Lighter Than Air, Or Hopes That In Mere Hoping Flicker And Cease; Crumple The Rose In Your Hair; And Cover Your Lips With Odorous Twilight And Say, "O Hearts Of Wind-Blown Flame! O Winds, Older Than Changing Of Night And Day, That Murmuring And Longing Came From Marble Cities Loud With Tabors Of Old In Dove-Grey Faery Lands; From Battle-Banners, Fold Upon Purple Fold, Queens Wrought With Glimmering Hands; That Saw Young Niamh Hover With Love-Lorn Face Above The Wandering Tide; And Lingered In The Hidden Desolate Place Where The Last Phoenix Died, And Wrapped The Flames Above His Holy Head; And Still Murmur And Long: O Piteous Hearts, Changing Till Change Be Dead In A Tumultuous Song': And Cover The Pale Blossoms Of Your Breast With Your Dim Heavy Hair, And Trouble With A Sigh For All Things Longing For Rest The Odorous Twilight There.