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.