For us it is finished and over.
Our three months are spent when as lover and lover
We may roam these groves. But to-night we are nearest,
This being our last night, dearest,
The spirits of those who wander
Near our lily-pond, by our sundial yonder,
In our rose-realm ... Farewells are not easily spoken,
So their silence remains unbroken.
But I see through a mist of tears
This garden after a million years,