TWO SONGS
I
THICK-flowered is the trellis
That hides our joys
From prying eyes of malice
And all annoys,
And we lie rosily bowered.
Through the long afternoons
And evenings endlessly
Drawn out, when summer swoons
In perfume windlessly,
Sounds our light laughter,
With whispered words between
And silent kisses.
None but the flowers have seen
Our white caresses—
Flowers and the bright-eyed birds.
II
MEN of a certain age
Grow sad remembering
Their youth’s libertinage,
Drinking and chambering.
She, whom devotedly
Once they solicited,
Proves all too bloatedly
Gross when revisited
Twenty years after,
Sordid years,
Oh, bitter laughter
And bitter tears!