You drag the knight's plume in the highway,
And leave it all tarnished to lie.
O beautiful, happy, lost summer!
How bitter is growing thy wine,
Distilled from the roses and lilies
That bury this lost love of mine!
BECAUSE A TIME MAY COME.
THOUGHTFUL care for worn and weary,
Tender heart for others keep,
Lest sad mem'ry come before us
When our loved ones lie asleep,
With their hands together folded,
Heeding never touch of ours,
Nor kiss, nor tears, nor tender drooping
Of beloved buds and flowers.
Leave the bitter word unspoken;
So shalt thou be strangely glad
If there lies no backward shadow
On dead faces wan and sad—
If a pale lip has not quivered
For thy careless, hot reply,
And no tears for thy transgression
Ever dimmed a lidded eye.
Soon shall come no quick forgiveness,
As to-day, for you and me;