And it did; and he came with it.
TWO YEARS AFTER.
Oh, I forgot that, long ago!
It was very fine at the time, no doubt,--
Remembering is so hard, you know;--
Well, you will one day find it out.
I love the life of the happy flowers,
But I hate the brown and crumbling leaves;
You cannot with spices embalm the hours,
Nor gather the sunshine into sheaves.
We are older now, and wiser, too.
Only two summers ago, you say,
Two autumns, two winters, two springs, since you----
Will you hold for a moment my bouquet?
Yes,--take that sprig of mignonette;
It will wither with you as it would with me:
Freshness and sweetness a half-hour yet,
Then a toss of the hand, and one is free.
Why will you talk of such silly things?--
What a pretty bride! Do you like her hair?
See Madam there, with her twenty rings.
Ogling the youth with the foreign air!--
The moon was bright and the winds were low,
The lilies bent listening to what we said?
I did not make your lilies grow;
Will they bloom for me now they are dead?
You hate the rooms and the heartless hum,
The thick perfumes and the studied smile?
'Tis the air I love to breathe,--yet come,
I will watch the stars with you awhile;
But you won't talk nonsense, you promise me?
Tear from the book the page we read;
We are friends,--dear friends.
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