A LOVE SONG

Love came to me once more,

His wings all drenched with rain;

Silent his singing lips,

His eyes were dark with pain.

Dead roses in his hands —

Gone were the flowers of yore;

Only a poor, grey ghost,

Love lingered at my door.

Wasted his rounded limbs

And grey his golden hair —

Poor, shadowy, silent God,

Who once had been so fair.

“O Love, great Love,” I cried,

“Why come you thus to me?”

“I am Love's ghost,” he said;

“Men name me Memory.”