 | Flowers of the Night |  |
58
IN THE RIVIERA.
The rose's leaves are red
Upon the April blue,
No single leaflet shed
Of all the sun shines through;
Upon the April blue,
No single leaflet shed
Of all the sun shines through;
The rose's self is white,
Her stem is lithe and tall,
Where languid with delight
She overlooks the wall.
Her stem is lithe and tall,
Where languid with delight
She overlooks the wall.
I am not like the rose,—
My May and June are past,
And every wind that blows
Takes leaves that are my last,
My May and June are past,
And every wind that blows
Takes leaves that are my last,
59
And yet, I know not why,
No gladdest, greenest thing
So inly feels as I
The passion of the spring.
No gladdest, greenest thing
So inly feels as I
The passion of the spring.
| Flowers of the Night | |