Page:Verses.djvu/22

10 Cried I: ‘Its sky at sunset is far more fair than this.’ Then I thought, my love's cheek flushes too ready 'neath my kiss, That the gentle voice replying spoke love too timidly, And the shy hands culling blossoms had no caress for me. I tired of roses' perfume and the song the wild-birds sung, So I left her in the noon-time, when Summer yet was young.

‘Neath the sunset skies of Autumn, all the heath-clad hills flushed red; Sweet the lark his matins singing in the blue sky over-head, And the languid breeze was perfumed by a rose's stolen breath; 'Twas the last white bud of Summer that escaped the hand of death, And my sweet, I feared to meet her for my yesterday of scorn; Then I flung myself beside her as she knelt amid the corn. She only said: ’To red and gold grew the green young leaf of Spring. The rose filled the dead cowslip's throne; now poppy reigns a king.‘