I slept; and where her lonely flower-knots gleam My dear lost Love I saw a-near my side, Yet knew our fate, since in my dreamiest dream How should I once forget that Norah died? But by a blossomed briar methought she stood, Whereon the rose's dawn was fair to see; And "Bend the spray," she said, "and this small bud It lifts so high above us, pluck for me. "This is the flower I ever loved of yore, This little rose, that where its petals part Is all a-flush within, as if it bore A rosier rose's shadow at its heart." Then, "O my love," I said, "needs must there be In thy dread world, unwist of mortal eyes, Full many a wondrous bloom, and worthier thee Than aught that drinks the light of these dim skies!" "Most fair," quoth she, "untouched of change that mars, I see them shine; yet this I chide in all. That steadfast bides their beauty as a star's, Nor ever a glow will fade, a leaf will fall. "For so, Beloved, I still have vainly sought, And missed in sheeniest sheen, in sweetest sweet, A symbol of the old life's bliss, pain-fraught-- Thine yet--where all delight doth fail and fleet. "Hence, for the old days' sake, from that far land To clasp these flowers a weary way fare I, Because their deathward drooping in my hand Breathes memory of our love that shall not die." |