 | Leaves of life |  |
178
A DEDICATION.
In any meadow where your feet may tread,
In any garland that your love may wear,
May be the flower whose hidden fragrance shed
Wakes some old hope or numbs some old despair,
And makes life's grief not quite so hard to bear,
And makes life's joy more poignant and more dear
Because of some delight dead many a year.
In any garland that your love may wear,
May be the flower whose hidden fragrance shed
Wakes some old hope or numbs some old despair,
And makes life's grief not quite so hard to bear,
And makes life's joy more poignant and more dear
Because of some delight dead many a year.
Or in some cottage garden there may be
The flower whose scent is memory for you;
The sturdy southernwood, the frail sweet-pea
Bring back the swallow's cheep, the pigeon's coo,
And youth and hope, and all the dreams they knew—
The evening star, the hedges gray with mist,
The silent porch where Love's first kiss was kissed.
The flower whose scent is memory for you;
The sturdy southernwood, the frail sweet-pea
Bring back the swallow's cheep, the pigeon's coo,
And youth and hope, and all the dreams they knew—
The evening star, the hedges gray with mist,
The silent porch where Love's first kiss was kissed.
So in my garland may you chance to find
Or royal rose or quiet meadow flower,
Whose scent may be with some dear dream entwined,
And give you back the ghost of some sweet hour,
As lilies fragrant from an August shower,
Or airs of June that over bean-fields blow,
Bring back the sweetness of my long ago!
Or royal rose or quiet meadow flower,
179
And give you back the ghost of some sweet hour,
As lilies fragrant from an August shower,
Or airs of June that over bean-fields blow,
Bring back the sweetness of my long ago!
| Leaves of life | |