My Loss
IN the world was one green nook I knew, Full of roses, roses red and white,
Reddest roses summer ever grew,
Whitest roses ever pearled with dew; And their sweetness was beyond delight,
Was all love's delight.
Wheresoever in the world I went, Roses were; for in my heart I
Blow and blossom and bewildering scent;
Roses never with the summer spent, Roses always ripening in that nook,
Love's far summer nook.
In the world a soddened plot I know Blackening in this chill and misty air,
Set with shivering bushes in a row,
One by one the last leaves letting go: Wheresoe'er I turn I shall be there,
Always sighing there.
Ah, my folly!
Ah, my loss, my pain! Dead, my roses that can blow no more!
Wherefore looked I on our nook again?
Wherefore went I after autumn's rain, Where the summer roses bloomed before,
Bloomed so sweet before?
Augusta Davies Webster
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