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I.
ALL’S over, then: does truth sound bitterAs one at first believes? Hark, ’tis the sparrows’ good-night twitter About your cottage eaves!
II.
And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,I noticed that, to-day; One day more bursts them open fully —You know the red turns grey.
III.
To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we,—well, friends the merest Keep much that I resign:
IV.
For each glance of the eye so bright and black,Though I keep with heart’s endeavour,— Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, Though it stay in my soul for ever!—
V.
—Yet I will but say what mere friends say,Or only a thought stronger; I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer! |