XLV — To W. B.

From the brake the Nightingale

Sings exulting to the Rose;

Though he sees her waxing pale

In her passionate repose,

While she triumphs waxing frail,

Fading even while she glows;

Though he knows

How it goes -

Knows of last year's Nightingale

Dead with last year's Rose.

Wise the enamoured Nightingale,

Wise the well-beloved Rose!

Love and life shall still prevail,

Nor the silence at the close

Break the magic of the tale

In the telling, though it shows -

Who but knows

How it goes! -

Life a last year's Nightingale,

Love a last year's Rose.