A little month ago, and in my ear
I heard your low "I love" strike warm and clear,
And musing, wondered why with that pure word
Held to my bosom like a fluttering bird,
I yet could pace the budding earth and find
No gladder angel singing in the wind.
Tonight with ear turned vainly to the breeze,
Which brings no sound save that of moaning trees,
With lips unwarmed by thy pure kiss, and hands
Held out unclasped across the severing lands,
I sit and muse, and musing seem to hear
A seraph's voice in every quiring sphere.
A month ago, and Love and May in vain
Looked in my face and sang their sweetest strain,
This chill June eve with none to smile and say,
"Sweet, how I love thee!" bears the palm away.
Why, why is this? Can Summer cheat us so
Of heart and soul? Ah, dear, dost thou not know?
May's laughing eyes beheld thy love for me,
But June looks down upon my love for thee.