For who should have, I trow, And pleasance of the May,- And birth of Springtide gay, When in woodwalk and row As he to whom alway God giveth day by day To set to roundelay Life's sad and sunny hours,— To weave into a lay Life's golden years and gray, Its sweet and bitter flowers,— To sweep, with hands that stray In many a devious way, Its harp of sun and showers? Nor in this life of ours, Whereon the sky oft lowers, Is any lovelier thing. Than in the wild wood bowers The cloud of green that towers, The vivid vernal hours Among the painted flowers And all the pomp of Spring. U True, Life is on the wing, And all the flowers that be Amid the glow and ring, Of Spring's sweet pageantry, Death nearer, as they flee. Yet this thing learn of me : The sweet hours fair and free That we have had of yore, The fair things we did see, The linked melody Of waves upon the shore That rippled in their glee, Are not lost utterly, Though they return no more. But in the true heart's core Thought treasures evermore The tune of birds and breeze; And there the slow years store And scent of blossomed leas : There murmur o'er and o'er The sound of woodlands hoar With newly burgeoned trees. So for the sad soul's ease Remembrance treasures these Against Time's harvesting, That so, when mild Death frees Of strife and sorrowing, In glass of memories The new hope looks and sees Through Death a brighter Spring. JOHN PAYNE CCXIV. [VILLANELLE.] @HEN I saw you last, Rose, You were only so high ; How fast the time goes! Like a bud ere it blows, You just peeped at the sky When I saw you last, Rose! Now your petals unclose, Now your May-time is nigh ; How fast the time goes! You would prattle your woes, All the wherefore and why, When I saw you last, Rose ! Now you leave me to prose, And you seldom reply ; How fast the time goes! |