IN MAYTIME

The apple blossoms glisten

Within the crowned trees;

The meadow grasses listen

The din of busy bees;

The wayward, woodland singer

Carols along the leas,

Not loth to be the bringer

Of summer fantasies.

But you and I who never

Meet now but for regret,

Forever and forever,

Though flower-bonds were set

In Maytime, if you wonder

That falling leaves are ours,

Yours was it cast asunder,

Mine are the faded flowers.

The fluted wren is sobbing

Beneath the mossy eaves;

The throstle's chord is throbbing

In coronal of leaves;

The home of love is lilies,

And rose-hearts, flaming red,

Red roses and white lilies —

Lo, thus the gods were wed!

But we weep on, unheeding

The earth's joys spread for us;

And ever, far receding,

Our fair land fades from us:

One waited, patient, broken,

High-hearted but opprest,

One lightly took the token —

The mad Fates took the rest.

High mountains and low valleys,

And shreds of silver seas,

The lone brook's sudden sallies,

And all the joys of these,—

These were, but now the fire

Volcanic seeks the sea,

And dark wave walls retire

Tyrannic seeking me.

Spirit of dreams, a vision

Well hast thou wrought for us;

Fold high the veil Elysian,

The past held naught for us;

Years, what are they but spaces

Set in a day for me?

Lo, here are lilied places —

My love comes back to me!