Days and Hours By Frederick Tennyson |
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IV
At last she found some leaves of Eglatere,
Whose circling spray had bound those flowers in one;
She said ‘I will not weep, while thou art here,
Whose odor, and fresh leaf outlives the Sun;
Green wert thou in the early morning shine,
Green art thou still at even—a holy wreath
Of pale, sweet flowers for me thou still mayst twine,
When I go forth to be the bride of Death!’
Whose circling spray had bound those flowers in one;
She said ‘I will not weep, while thou art here,
Whose odor, and fresh leaf outlives the Sun;
Green wert thou in the early morning shine,
Green art thou still at even—a holy wreath
Of pale, sweet flowers for me thou still mayst twine,
When I go forth to be the bride of Death!’
She sigh'd, ‘the Sun is set,
It is no longer Day;
Oh! heart, couldst thou forget!—
But, come, away, away!’
It is no longer Day;
Oh! heart, couldst thou forget!—
But, come, away, away!’
| Days and Hours | |