40
THE TROUBADOUR.
Where, amid birds, and leaves, and flowers,
And gales that cool'd the sunny hours,
With legend old, and plaining song,
We found not summer's day too long."
Through many a shadowy spot they past,
Looking its loveliest and its last,
Until they paused beneath the shade
Of cypress and of roses made,—
The one so sad, the one so fair,
Just blent as love and sorrow are.
And Raymond prayed the maiden gather,
And twine in a red wreath together
The roses. "No," she sigh'd "not these
Sweet children of the sun and breeze,
Born for the beauty of a day,
Dying as all fair things decay
