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,
The wind came and the rain,
My lily bent, lay low.
Only the night-time sees my pain—Alas, my lily long ago!
I had a rose-tree born in May; I watched it burgeon and grow red, I breathed the perfume that it shed. Then summer-time had sped,
The frost came with its
My rose-tree died away.
Only the silence hears me weep—Alas, lost rose-tree! lost, lost May!
The garden's lily blows once more; The buried rose will wake and climb; There is no thought of rain and rime After, next summer-time.
But the heart's blooms are weak;
Once dead for ever o'er.
Not night, not silence knows me
My joy that waned and blooms no more.
