EREWHILE, before the world was old, When violets grew and celandine, In Cupid's train we were enrolled: Erewhile! Your little hands were clasped in mine, Your head all ruddy and sun-gold Lay on my breast which was your shrine, And all the tale of love was told: Ah, God, that sweet things should decline, And fires fade out which were not cold, Erewhile. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CALL OF THE WILD by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE DON'T YOU WISH YOU KNEW! by A. H. B. HOW DOES THE RAIN COME? by CHARLES ROLLIN BALLARD PRAIRIE VOICES by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN IF YOU PLAY A GAME OF CHANCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE SONGS OF SUMMER by MATHILDE BLIND |