“Has summer come without the rose?”

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 grass, 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 grass, 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.