Iii

She muses upon the past:

When, in her cloudy chiton, Spring freed the frozen rills, And walked in rainbowed light on The blossom-blowing hills; Beyond the world’s horizon, That no such glory lies on, And no such hues bedizen, Love led us far from ills.

When Summer came, a sickle Stuck in her sheaf of beams, And let the honey trickle From out her bee-hives’ seams; Within the violet-blotted Sweet book to us allotted,-- Whose lines are flower-dotted,-- Love read us many dreams.

Then Autumn came,--a liar, A fair-faced heretic;-- In gypsy garb of fire, Throned on a harvest rick.-- Our lives, that fate had thwarted, Stood pale and broken-hearted,-- Though smiling when we parted,-- Where love to death lay sick.

Now is the Winter waited, The tyrant hoar and old, With death and hunger mated, Who counts his crimes like gold.-- Once more, before forever We part--once more, then never!-- Once more before we sever, Must I his face behold!