In After Years
VE is dying.
Why then, let it die. Trample it down, that it die more fast.
What is a rose that has lost its bloom? What is a fruit with its freshness past?
And where is the worth of the twilight gloom?
Let the night come when the day has gone by:
Let the dying die.
Leave your useless smiles and your tears, Weepings and wooings are, oh, so vain!
Sunlights and rains bid the blossoms blow, But waken no waning blossom again.
Nay, but say "It was always so;
Love was not love in the other years,
There is nought for tears."Say "We lose what was never ours, Lo, we were fooled by a fond deceit;
Because we chanced to be side by side, Because we were young and love is sweet,
Love seemed there: but could love have died?
When has decay touched immortal hours?
Love was never ours."Ah, my heart, is it true? is it true? Did all longings and fears mean no more?
Whispers and vows and the gladness mean this? What, we grow wiser when years are o'er,
And weary in soul of a mimic bliss!
Did we but dream, hand in hand, we two?
Must it needs be true?
Augusta Davies Webster
Other author posts
Tired
No not to-night, dear child; I cannot go; I'm busy, tired; they knew I should not come; you do not need me there Dear, be content, and take your pleasure; you shall tell me of it
The Brook Leaps Riotous
The brook leaps riotous with its life just found, That freshets from the mountain rains have fed, Beats at the boulders in its hindered bed, And fills the valley with its triumphing sound
Once
I ET a lily long ago; I watched it whiten in the sun; I loved it well, I had but one Then summer-time was done,
Young Laughters and My Music!
Young laughters, and my music Aye till now The voice can reach no blending minors near; 'Tis the bird's trill because the spring is here And spring means trilling on a blossomy bough; 'Tis the spring joy that has no why or how, But sees ...
