FRIMAIREDearest, we are like two flowersBlooming in the garden,A purple aster flower and a red oneStanding alone in a withered desolation.The garden plants are shattered and seeded,One brittle leaf scrapes against another,Fiddling echoes of a rush of petals.Now only you and I nodding together.Many were with us; they have all faded.Only we are purple and crimson,Only we in the dew-clear mornings,Smarten into color as the sun rises.When I scarcely see you in the flat moonlight,And later when my cold roots tighten,I am anxious for morning,I cannot rest in fear of what may happen.You or I—and I am a coward.Surely frost should take the crimson.Purple is a finer color,Very splendid in isolation.So we nod above the brokenStems of flowers almost rotted.Many mornings there cannot be nowFor us both. Ah, Dear, I love you!AMY LOWELL
Dearest, we are like two flowersBlooming in the garden,A purple aster flower and a red oneStanding alone in a withered desolation.The garden plants are shattered and seeded,One brittle leaf scrapes against another,Fiddling echoes of a rush of petals.Now only you and I nodding together.Many were with us; they have all faded.Only we are purple and crimson,Only we in the dew-clear mornings,Smarten into color as the sun rises.When I scarcely see you in the flat moonlight,And later when my cold roots tighten,I am anxious for morning,I cannot rest in fear of what may happen.You or I—and I am a coward.Surely frost should take the crimson.Purple is a finer color,Very splendid in isolation.So we nod above the brokenStems of flowers almost rotted.Many mornings there cannot be nowFor us both. Ah, Dear, I love you!
AMY LOWELL