The dream is over—I have lived my day
Nourished in sun with other violets gay;
And now I’m borne afar to Paradise,
To find my haven in your gentle eyes.
If I may touch your lips I’ll die content
Without one glimpse of freedom or days spent
In woodland dells; oh, murmur, while I fade,
Your own sweet mem’ries of the forest glade!
Come, tell me quickly, for my brief hours pass;
What! You too captive in a house of glass?
A SONG
WITH A RED ROSE ON HER BIRTHDAY
What the Rose thought:
Oh, to be one-and-twenty!
But I am a rose that must bloom for a day;
My life is like color and perfume in May;
To-night I shall fade in her beautiful hair,
And touch with my petals her proud neck and fair.
Oh, to be one-and-twenty!
What She sang, exultingly:
Oh, to be one-and-twenty!
To feel that the glorious days of my youth
Are only the promise of hope, love, and truth—
That all joyful things in my bright future gleam,
And I am to live them and find out my dream.
Oh, to be one-and-twenty!
What He wrote, sadly:
Oh, to be one-and-twenty!
To dream that the great world is still all my own,
And cherish again the ideals that have flown;
To follow them, hiding with cunning and art,
And find them all sleeping within her warm heart,
Her heart that is one-and-twenty!