Volume Ii Part 97 (2/2)

Paul Hamilton Hayne [1830-1886]

SONG

I made another garden, yea, For my new Love: I left the dead rose where it lay And set the new above.

Why did my Summer not begin?

Why did my heart not haste?

My old Love came and walked therein, And laid the garden waste.

She entered with her weary smile, Just as of old; She looked around a little while And s.h.i.+vered with the cold: Her pa.s.sing touch was death to all, Her pa.s.sing look a blight; She made the white rose-petals fall, And turned the red rose white.

Her pale robe clinging to the gra.s.s Seemed like a snake That bit the gra.s.s and ground, alas!

And a sad trail did make.

She went up slowly to the gate, And there, just as of yore, She turned back at the last to wait And say farewell once more.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881]

SONG

Has summer come without the rose, Or left the bird behind?

Is the blue changed above thee, O world! or am I blind?

Will you change every flower that grows, Or only change this spot, Where she who said, I love thee, Now says, I love thee not?

The skies seemed true above thee, The rose true on the tree; The bird seemed true the summer through, But all proved false to me.

World! is there one good thing in you, Life, love, or death--or what?

Since lips that sang, I love thee, Have said, I love thee not?

I think the sun's kiss will scarce fall Into one flower's gold cup; I think the bird will miss me, And give the summer up.

O sweet place! desolate in tall Wild gra.s.s, have you forgot How her lips loved to kiss me, Now that they kiss me not?

Be false or fair above me, Come back with any face, Summer!--do I care what you do?

You cannot change one place-- The gra.s.s, the leaves, the earth, the dew, The grave I make the spot-- Here, where she used to love me, Here, where she loves me not.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881]

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