POEMS.
13
HOW CAN ONE TELL?
Who would believe that under sunny skies,
A month ago, when summer kissed the land,
We read sweet stories in each other's eyes,
And laughed and loved and would not under stand
That Time, who changes all things as he flies,
Bids us change too, in order to be wise—
Who would believe?
A month ago, when summer kissed the land,
We read sweet stories in each other's eyes,
And laughed and loved and would not under stand
That Time, who changes all things as he flies,
Bids us change too, in order to be wise—
Who would believe?
Well, being wise, we part without regret,
Frank with ourselves and fickle with our times;
But, though we part, we need not quite forget,
In winter prose, the ring of summer rhymes.
Fate cannot change the fact that once we met:
We may remember that, at least—and yet
Be not unwise.
Frank with ourselves and fickle with our times;
But, though we part, we need not quite forget,
In winter prose, the ring of summer rhymes.
Fate cannot change the fact that once we met:
We may remember that, at least—and yet
Be not unwise.
