A SONG IN A GARDEN
Will the garden never forget
That it whispers over and over,
"Where is your lover, Nanette?
Where is your lover—your lover?"
Oh, roses I helped to grow,
Oh, lily and mignonette,
Must you always question me so,
"Where is your lover, Nanette?"
Since you looked on my joy one day,
Is my grief then a lesser thing?
Have you only this to say
When I pray you for comforting?
Now that I walk alone
Here where our hands were met,
Must you whisper me everyone,
"Where is your lover, Nanette?"
I have mourned with you year and year,
When the Autumn has left you bare,
And now that my heart is sere
Does not one of your roses care?
Oh, help me forget—forget,
Nor question over and over,
"Where is your lover, Nanette?
Where is your lover—your lover?"
Theodosia Garrison
"IT WAS JUNE IN THE GARDEN"
It was June in the garden,
It was our time, our day;
And our gaze with love on everything
Did fall;
They seemed then softly opening,
And they saw and loved us both,
The roses all.
The sky was purer than all limpid thought;
Insect and bird
Swept through the golden texture of the air,
Unheard;
Our kisses were so fair they brought
Exaltation to both light and bird.
It seemed as though a happiness at once
Had skied itself and wished the heavens entire
For its resplendent fire;
And life, all pulsing life, had entered in,
Into the fissures of our beings to the core,
To fling them higher.
And there was nothing but invocatory cries,
Mad impulses, prayers and vows that cleave
The archèd skies,
And sudden yearning to create new gods,
In order to believe.
Emile Verhaeren