I HAVE stay'd too long from your grave, it seems; Now I come back again. Love, have you stirr'd down there in your dreams Through the sunny days or the rain? Ah, no! the same peace: you are happy so; And your flowers, how do they grow? Your rose has a bud: is it meant for me? Ah, little red gift put up So silently, like a child's present, you see Lying beside your cup! And geranium leaves, -- I will take, if I may, Two or three to carry away. I went not far. In you world of ours Grow ugly weeds. With my heart, Thinking of you and your garden of flowers, I went to do my part, Plucking up, where they poison the human wheat, The weeds of cant and deceit. 'T is a hideous thing I have seen, and the toil Begets few thanks, much hate; And the new crop only will find the soil Less foul, -- for the old 't is too late. I come back to the only spot I know Where a weed will never grow. |