Now that the trees are stripped of all their fire, And silence reigns where yesterday was song Of love in feathered throats hot with desire . . . Now that brief days are come, and nights too long For all save lovers who recline close-prest Enrapt in dreams, and those tired ones who find Reprieve from life's dull war upon sleep's breast, I am resolved to wipe you from my mind! I shall not let one trace of you defeat My sure forgetting. Nor permit to pass The gates of thought one least regret. -- Ah, Sweet, It matters not what I resolve, alas! This is the verity my heart attests: Though birds have flown the trees still harbor nests. |