Now do I know that Love is blind, for I
Can see no beauty on this beauteous earth,
No life, no light, no hopefulness, no mirth,
Pleasure nor purpose, when thou art not nigh.
Let not the roses lie
Too thickly tangled round my tomb,
Lest fleecy clouds that skim the summer sky,
Where have you been through the long sweet hours
That follow the fragrant feet of June?
By the dells and the dingles gathering flowers,
Lately, when we wished good-bye
Underneath a gloomy sky,
``Bear,'' you said, ``my love in mind,
There was a snow-white lily
Grew by a cottage door:
Such a white and wonderful lily
Never was seen before.
Should fickle hands in far-off days
No longer stroke thy hair,
And lips that once were proud to praise
Forget to call thee fair,
`You ask me why I envy not
The Monarch on his throne.
It is that I myself have got
A Kingdom of my own:
Why, throstle, do you sing
In this November haze?
Singing for what? for whom?
Deem you that it is Spring,
Good-bye, old year, good-bye!
Gentle you were to many as to me,
And so we, meditating, sigh,