Within the sense of touch and sight,
They lie before me as I write.
These subtle-scented flowers;
Their little tufts of golden green,
With flecks of ruddy brown between,
All wet with summer showers.
I saw them but an hour ago.
With sister bunches all a-row.
And rosebuds white and red;
And dark carnations, spicy sweet,
Borne westward thro' the busy street.
Upon a flower-girl's head.
The sudden summer shower drew forth
From my one simple pennyworth.
The half-evanished bloom;
The fading tufts grew green again,
And breathed, in answer to the rain,
A beautiful perfume.
How well their silent beauties grace
The dulness of this dingy place,
My lonely working-room!
I drop my pen this summer day.
And fancy bears me far away,
Where other posies bloom.
To garden borders thickly set
With pansy, lily, mignonette,
And all sweet flowers that blow;
Where we two in the sunshine sit,
While butterflies around us flit,
And brown bees come and go.
The lark sings high, in heaven above,
Its thrilling strain of happy love.
While we sit still below;
Each heart can feel the other beat.
But neither breaks the silence sweet,
With whispered "Yes" or "No."
Ah, me! since then what months of pain
Ah, me! what months of sun and rain
Must run, ere I can see
Another of those sunshine hours,
And hear among the summer flowers
How one remembers me.
But love is mine, how strong and true,
And hope springs green, dear flowers, as you.
I murmur not at fate;
While for the greatest good of all,
For years, though shine or shadow fall,
I am content to wait.
