No More Learning

. I hope she will not come again.
. . . . I do not remember . . . .
I think she hurt me once, but . . . . That was very long ago.
I do not like to remember things any more.
I like one little band of winds that blow In the ash trees here:
For we are quite alone
Here amid the ash trees.
6
? CINO
ITALIAN CAMPAGNA 1309, THE OPEN-ROAD
AH ! I have sung women in three cities,
B'
And I will sing of the sun.
But it is all the
same;
Lips, words, and you snare them, Dreams, words, and they are as jewels, Strange spells of old deity,
Ravens, nights, allurement:
And they are not;
Having become the souls of song.
Eyes, dreams, lips, and the night goes. Being upon the road once more,
They are not.
Forgetful in their towers of our tuneing
Once for Wind-runeing They dream us-toward and
"
Sighing, say,
Passionate Cino, of the wrinkling eyes,
Gay Cino, of quick laughter,
Cino, of the dare, the jibe,
Frail Cino, strongest of his tribe
That tramp old ways beneath the sun-light, Would Cino of the Luth were here! "
Once, twice, a year Vaguely thus word they:
"Cino? " "Oh, eh, Cino Polnesi The singer is 't you mean? " "Ah yes, passed once our way,
A saucy fellow, but . . . .
7
Would Cino,
?