A MEMORY
Adown the grass-grown paths we strayed:
The evening cowslips oped
Their yellow eyes to look at her;
The love-sick lilies moped
With envy that she rather chose
To take a creamy-petalled rose
And lean it ’gainst her ebon hair,
All in that garden fair.
A languid breeze, with stolen scent
Of box-bloom in his grasp,
Sighed out his longing in her ear,
And with his dying gasp
Scattered the perfume at her feet
To blend with others not less sweet:
He loved her, but she did not care,
All in that garden fair.
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