Page:Last Poems.djvu/41



is the season of my youth, Not thus shall I always be, Listen, dear Lord, thou too art young, Take thy pleasure with me. My hair is straight as the falling rain, And fine as morning mist, I am a rose awaiting thee That none have touched or kissed.

Do as thou wilt with mine and me, Beloved, I only pray, Follow the promptings of thy youth. Let there be no delay!

A leaf that flutters upon the bough, A moment, and it is gone,— A bubble amid the fountain spray, Ah, pause, and think thereon; For such is youth and its passing bloom That wait for thee this hour, If aught in thy heart incline to me Ah, stoop and pluck thy flower!

29