We ’ll not weep for summer over,— No, not we: Strew above his head the clover,— Let him be! Other eyes may weep his dying, Shed their tears There upon him, where he ’s lying With his peers. Unto some of them he proffered Gifts most sweet; For our hearts a grave he offered,— Was this meet? All our fond hopes, praying, perished In his wrath,— All the lovely dreams we cherished Strewed his path. Shall we in our tombs, I wonder, Far apart, Sundered wide as seas can sunder Heart from heart, Dream at all of all the sorrows That were ours,— Bitter nights, more bitter morrows; Poison-flowers Summer gathered, as in madness, Saying, “See, These are yours, in place of gladness,— Gifts from me”? Nay, the rest that will be ours Is supreme, And below the poppy flowers Steals no dream.
After Summer
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Keen was the air, the sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was, and white, And, walking there, I heard upon the night Sudden sound of little voices, Just the prettiest of noises. It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound, It seemed above me, seemed upon the ground, Then... |
All ye who have gained the haven of safe days, And rest at ease, your wanderings being done, Except the last, inevitable one, Be well content, I say, and hear men’s praise: Yet in the quiet of your sheltered bays,— Bland waters shining in an equal sun,— Forget not that the awful storm-... |
We ’ll not weep for summer over,— No, not we: Strew above his head the clover,— Let him be! Other eyes may weep his dying, Shed their tears There upon him, where he ’s lying With his peers. Unto some of them he proffered Gifts most sweet; For our hearts a... |