Ii

If it be true That garden flower or meadow tree May hold still any memory Of lovers past who once looked on Their splendour or their purity, So shall our love return once more In that long hour of long regret To give the rose, or in the oak restore, Its sweetness or its strength, Ere death come yet.

Thus shall it survive unconquered Within the glory that belongs to simple things, And find a joy again, in light that cleaves The sky on summer break of day, And find a joy again In the sweet rain That dwells in drops on hanging leaves.

And if on some fair eve, from depths of space, Should come two lovers hand in hand, The oak, like a large and puissant wing Would reach its shadow out to where they stand, And the rose would give them of its perfumed grace.