The Tree of Song

I sang my songs for the rest,
   For you I am still;
  The tree of my song is bare
   On its shining hill.

For you came like a lordly wind,
   And the leaves were whirled
  Far as forgotten things
   Past the rim of the world.

The tree of my song stands bare
   Against the blue—
  I gave my songs to the rest,
   Myself to you.