 | Love's memorial |  |
1
A LANE IN FEBRUARY.
I wandered up this way last year;
Unchanged, unmoved, it may not be
Unlike what then it seemed to me;
The same dull ivied trees, and here
The same black hedges that gird in
Downs barren as the breasts of sin,
The same still wearied atmosphere.
Unchanged, unmoved, it may not be
Unlike what then it seemed to me;
The same dull ivied trees, and here
The same black hedges that gird in
Downs barren as the breasts of sin,
The same still wearied atmosphere.
2
And then as now I slowly passed
Along the steep divided slope,
With aching heart and without hope,
Scarce caring in what shape the last
Blow fell upon my beaten brow,
With eyes foreseeing then as now
The future blacker than the past.
Along the steep divided slope,
With aching heart and without hope,
Scarce caring in what shape the last
Blow fell upon my beaten brow,
With eyes foreseeing then as now
The future blacker than the past.
What has the year left with me? One
Sad love destroyed through time and scorn;
A summer of delight forlorn;
Memories of sorrows that are gone
With grey and desolated hours;
And this dry handful of spoilt flowers
That died as I laid hand thereon.
Sad love destroyed through time and scorn;
A summer of delight forlorn;
Memories of sorrows that are gone
With grey and desolated hours;
And this dry handful of spoilt flowers
That died as I laid hand thereon.
| Love's memorial | |