Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/235



shall be said between us here Among the downs, between the trees, In fields that knew our feet last year, In sight of quiet sands and seas, This year, Félise?

Who knows what word were best to say? For last year’s leaves lie dead and red On this sweet day, in this green May, And barren corn makes bitter bread. What shall be said?

Here as last year the fields begin, A fire of flowers and glowing grass; The old fields we laughed and lingered in, Seeing each our souls in last year’s glass, Félise, alas!