“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.