And Yet...

Upon the meads where we were wont to stray,

‘ Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,

The Spring has smiled; yon slope that late gloomed gray

And sternly sad,‘ neath April's tender showers

Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,

A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,

Breaks at my feet in billows foamed with flowers;

And blue-eyed myrtle blooms with lashes wet

Smile to me thro’ their tears. The skies are blue,

And life is sweet to-day and hope seems true;

My heart is barren of its long regret —

And yet...

The willow wears a wistful green. A dream

Of Summer warmth the wine-sweet breezes hold,

Fair wildings blow — bright buttercups agleam

Like shining sequins scattered on the wold,

And daffodills — a wealth of faery gold.

The building birds their coming bliss presage

With lilt and lyric brimming o'er the page

Of Nature's volume bound in green and gold.

Here‘ mid the birds and blossoms‘ neath the blue —

My heart unburthened of the old regret —

Let me forget long striving to forget;

For life is sweet to-day and hope seems true —

And yet...