II
Hollyhocks bend all tattered and torn,
Marigolds all are gone;
The last pale rose lies all forlorn,
Like love that is trampled on.
Weary, ah me! to-night will be,
Weary and wild and hoar;
Rain and mist will blow from the sea,
And the wind will sob in the autumn tree,
“He comes no more, no more.
Weary, ah me! ah me!”
“WHEN SHE DRAWS NEAR”
I
When she draws near,
I seem to hear
The shy approach of some wild innocence:
As if—in acorn crown—
A dryad should step down
From some dim oak-tree where the woods are dense.
II
When she’s with me,
I seem to see
The brambles blossom where just touched her dress:
As, with her love’s perfume,
She touches into bloom
The thorns of life and gives them loveliness.