Page:The ascent of man by Blind, Mathilde.djvu/207



, throbbing heart, nor let us shed one tear
 * O'er this late love's unseasonable glow;
 * Sweet as a violet blooming in the snow,

The posthumous offspring of the widowed year, That smells of March when all the world is sere,
 * And, while around the hurtling sea-winds blow—
 * Which twist the oak and lay the pine tree low—

Stands childlike in the storm and has no fear.

Poor helpless blossom orphaned of the sun,
 * How could it thus brave winter's rude estate?
 * Oh love, more helpless love, why bloom so late,

Now that the flower-time of the year is done? Since thy dear course must end when scarce begun,
 * Nipped by the cold touch of untoward fate.