FOREBODING

Thou canst not see him standing by —

Time — with a poppied hand

Stealing thy youth's simplicity,

Even as falls unceasingly

His waning sand.

He will pluck thy childish roses, as

Summer from her bush

Strips all the loveliness that was;

Even to the silence evening has

Thy laughter hush.

Thy locks too faint for earthly gold,

The meekness of thine eyes,

He will darken and dim, and to his fold

Drive,‘ gainst the night, thy stainless, old

Innocencies;

Thy simple words confuse and mar,

Thy tenderest thoughts delude,

Draw a long cloud athwart thy star,

Still with loud timbrels heaven's far

Faint interlude.

Thou canst not see; I see, dearest;

O, then, yet patient be,

Though love refuse thy heart all rest,

Though even love wax angry, lest

Love should lose thee?