Giles

Content thee, sweet, for nowise dead Within our hearts the story is; It shall come back to better bliss On many an eve of happy spring, Or midst of summer's flourishing. Or think--some noon of autumn-tide Thou wandering on the turf beside The chestnut-wood may'st find thy song Fade out, as slow thou goest along, Until at last thy feet stay there As though thou bidedst something fair, And hearkenedst for a coming foot; While down the hole unto the root The long leaves flutter loud to thee The fall of spiky nuts shall be, And creeping wood-wale's noise above; For thou wouldst see the wings of Love.