 | Love's memorial |  |
6
A LITTLE WHILE.
Nay! Is it much to thee that year by year
The Spring returns, when her soft languid days
Give presage of July's sun-dazzling blaze,
Most sure to come, lest we should doubt and fear?
The Spring returns, when her soft languid days
Give presage of July's sun-dazzling blaze,
Most sure to come, lest we should doubt and fear?
Thus kissing now your long throat, white and clear,
I asked: but you who watched the sun's last rays
Burn there behind the fir-trees, would not praise
The thing I love in words I longed to hear.
I asked: but you who watched the sun's last rays
Burn there behind the fir-trees, would not praise
The thing I love in words I longed to hear.
Wait! When we hear the robin piping shrill
Through the dank season, o'er the misty hill,
Then shall we shudder at that sad song he sings!
Through the dank season, o'er the misty hill,
Then shall we shudder at that sad song he sings!
Wait! When death comes upon his bat-like wings,
How we shall yearn to know of flowers that fill,
Laid low among foul worms and creeping things!
How we shall yearn to know of flowers that fill,
Laid low among foul worms and creeping things!
| Love's memorial | |