Well, is it done? is it over?
Three months in these groves I have been your lover,
Added my voice to the echoing chorus
Of those who loved here before us.
We have pressed the paths made sweet
By the pressure of bygone lovers' feet,
Have lain amid flowerless violet-beds
Where they laid their happy heads;
We have flung a red-rose petal
On the glass of the pond and watched it settle,