The Lost Mistress

All 's over, then: does truth sound bitter   As one at first believes? Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter   About your cottage eaves! And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,   I noticed that, to-day; One day more bursts them open fully   —You know the red turns gray. To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?   May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we,—well, friends the merest   Keep much that I resign: For each glance of the eye so bright and black,   Though I keep with heart's endeavour,— Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,   Though it stay in my soul for ever!— Yet I will but say what mere friends say,   Or only a thought stronger; I will hold your hand but as long as all may,   Or so very little longer!