'T WAS springtime of the day and year; Clouds of white fragrance hid the thorn. My heart unto her heart drew near, And ere the dew had fled the morn, Sweet Love was born. An August noon, an hour of bliss, That stands amid my hours alone, A word, a look, then -- ah, that kiss! Joy's veil was rent, her secret known: Love was full-grown. And now this drear November eve, What has to-day seen done, heard said? It boots not; who has tears to grieve For that last leaf yon tree has shed, Or for Love dead? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE QUARREL by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE LANDSCAPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WINTER GARDEN THEATRE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OF ANY OLD MAN by ISAAC ROSENBERG PRELUDE TO A FAIRY TALE by EDITH SITWELL TUOL SLENG: POL POT'S PRISON by KAREN SWENSON |