Decked in garments of sable hue,
Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,
Wearing shower bouquets of rue,
Walk I ever in penitence.
Oft I roam, as my heart repents,
Through God's acre of memory,
Marking stones, in my reverence,
"I loved them until they loved me."
Pictures pass me in long review,—
Marching columns of dead events.
I was tender, and, often, true;
Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence;
Always saw what the end would be.
We're as Nature has made us—hence
I loved them until they loved me.
L'ENVOI:
Princes, never I'd give offense,
Won't you think of me tenderly?
Here's my strength and my weakness, gents,—
I loved them until they loved me.
The Thin Edge
With you, my heart is quiet here,
And all my thoughts are cool as rain.
I sit and let the shifting year
Go by before the window-pane,
And reach my hand to yours, my dear ...
I wonder what it's like in Spain.
Spring Song
(in the expected manner)
Enter April, laughingly,
Blossoms in her tumbled hair,
High of heart, and fancy-free—
When was maiden half so fair?
Bright her eyes with easy tears,
Wanton-sweet, her smiles for men.
"Winter's gone," she cries, "and here's
Spring again."