V

Junetime came: the days grew kind With increasing beauty: deep Were the nights with rest and sleep: Fair, with poppies intertwined On their blond locks, went the Hours, Sunny-hearted as the rose, Through the buds and banded flowers, Teaching them, how no one knows, Freshness, color, and perfume.-- In the window of your room Bloomed a late azalea. Pink As an egret's rosy plumes Shone its tender-tufted blooms. From your care and love, I think, Love's rose-color it did drink, Growing rosier day by day Through your 'tending hand's caress: And your own dear naturalness Had imbued it in some way. Once you gave a blossom of it, Smiling, to me when I left: Need I tell you how I love it Faded though it is now!--'Reft Of its fragrance and its color, Yet 'tis dearer now than then,--As past happiness is when Life regrets.--And dimmer, duller Though its beauty be, when I Look upon it, I recall Every part of that old wall; And the dingy window high, Where you sat and read; and all The fond love that made your face A soft sunbeam in that place: And the plant that grew this bloom Withered here, itself long dead, Makes a halo overhead There again--and through my room, Like faint whispers of perfume, Steal the words of love then said.