Hope (Mackintosh)

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WHERE is the life of springs forgotten,
The happy life of years grown old ?
Their bloomless buds are dead and rotten.
The suns that warmed their leaves are cold.
And we that walk the ruined garden
Watch the dry breath of winter harden
In all its beds the barren mould.

Where is the joy of daily meeting
In spring-time when the sun was high ?
The winter suns are pale and fleeting,
The gathering clouds o'ercast the sky.
And we that walk alone remember
The fires whose last undying ember
Will burn our hearts until we die.

Oh, heart of youth, too full of sorrow.
Be strong and hold your sorrow fast.
The bitter day and bitter morrow,
That hurt you now, will soon be past.
Winter and spring will end hereafter,
An end of tears, an end of laughter.
And you shall have content at last.

There where the flowers and grasses cover
The lips that laugh, the eyes that weep,
Lover shall meet again with lover.
No man shall break the tryst they keep.
You shall fulfil desire with dreaming
There where all life is inward seeming.
There where the heart of life is sleep.

1914