THREE SEASONS—MIRAGE.
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THREE SEASONS.
"A cup for hope!" she said,
In springtime ere the bloom was old
The crimson wine was poor and cold
By her mouth's richer red.
In springtime ere the bloom was old
The crimson wine was poor and cold
By her mouth's richer red.
"A cup for love!"how low,
How soft the words; and all the while
Her blush was rippling with a smile
Like summer after snow.
How soft the words; and all the while
Her blush was rippling with a smile
Like summer after snow.
"A cup for memory!"
Cold cup that one must drain alone:
While autumn winds are up and moan
Across the barren sea.
Cold cup that one must drain alone:
While autumn winds are up and moan
Across the barren sea.
Hope, memory, love:
Hope for fair morn, and love for day,
And memory for the evening grey
And solitary dove.
Hope for fair morn, and love for day,
And memory for the evening grey
And solitary dove.
MIRAGE.
THE hope I dreamed of was a dream,
Was but a dream; and now I wake
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
For a dream's sake.
Was but a dream; and now I wake
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
For a dream's sake.
