Consolation
What shall I grow,
When unto earth returned,
In peace I shall be laid
There, where so oft we walked in sun and shade?
Flame-flowers burning as my soul hath burned,
Whitening in passion just as flowers may
Under the fiery sun s consuming ray?
No, no! ah, no!
But so my garden-plot shall be
Sweet set with wilding bloom and grass,
Pale starry flowers there shall arise,
White for my spirit s thought, pale for mine eyes,
That wheresoe'er you thither come or pass,
Then surely shall you know, and feel, and see,
At last, though late, at last all s well with me;
In all my bitter life so sweet a thought,
So dear as this, I have not known—
To rest where singing winds, far-blown
From sea and moor, with singing birds are caught
Amid the fostering grey of apple-trees,
