Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/315

 Her body's balance from the moving feet— All this, found fair, lacked yet one grain of sweet It had some warm weeks back: so perisheth On May's new lip the tender April breath: So those same walks the wind sowed lilies in All April through, and all their latter kin Of languid leaves whereon the autumn blows— The dead red raiment of the last year's rose— The last year's laurel, and the last year's love, Fade, and grow things that death grows weary of. What man will gather in red summer-time The fruit of some obscure and hoary rhyme Heard last midwinter, taste the heart in it, Mould the smooth semitones afresh, refit The fair limbs ruined, flush the dead blood through With colour, make all broken beauties new For love's new lesson—shall not such find pain When the marred music labouring in his brain Frets him with sweet sharp fragments, and lets slip One word that might leave satisfied his lip— One touch that might put fire in all the chords? This was her pain: to miss from all sweet words Some taste of sound, diverse and delicate— Some speech the old love found out to compensate For seasons of shut lips and drowsiness— Some grace, some word the old love found out to bless Passionless months and undelighted weeks. The flowers had lost their summer-scented cheeks,