A Lover's Litanies

by Eric Mackay

ix.

O Summer's Pride! I loved thee from the first,
And, like a martyr, I was blest and curst,
And saved and slain, and crown'd and made anew,
A grief-glad man, with yearnings not a few,
But no just hope to win so fair a troth.
I should have known how one may weep for both
When lovers part, poor souls! beneath the moon,
And how Remembrance may outlive an oath.