Love in the World
The olives where we walk to-day
In the olive-groves are white and grey,
And underneath the shimmering trees
One almond-bough is faintly pink.
And lilac blow the anemones.
In all the flowers, in all the leaves.
The secret of their pallor heaves :
A tender hint of vanished bliss.
A rapture just beyond the brink
Of feeling, which we still must miss.
Perhaps when we are dead, my dear.
Our phantoms still shall wander here,
And breathe in this Elysian wood
(As others breathe for us, I think),
A beauty dimly understood.
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