I.
IT is a time before the rose
Has blossomed to its form complete;
Before the hidden fragrance knows
How rare it is, and sweet.
A time it is when hearts are light,
And shadows are a thing as far
Away as darkness from the sight
Of evening’s brightest star.
There is an undertone of song
Vague, like the mists of early day;
An undertone that steals along,
Forever far away.