Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/91

Rh That call'd it unto beingEven so, Love is a woman's life, a woman's sun, And mine slants fast to westward, why to-day One only yellowing garland decks my gate, Where once there rain'd such blossom, you had deem'd The Spring astray,of all the treasur'd sweets She bore to deck the world with weary grown Had dropp'd her fragrant burthen at my door.

(Dreamily.)

Ah Youth, Youth, Youth, the delicate days went by, Sweet and ephemeral as the year's new wine, Falling as soft as drifted petals dropp'd From o'er-blown garlands to the lilt o' flutes, But now, in this uneasy time of change, The hour grows late, the faltering harp-string fails, The wine runs down to latest, muddy lees. As when in dawn-chill'd hall the sleepy slaves Expiring lamps extinguish, one by one.