BELATED LOVEAh, woe is me, for Love hath lain asleep,Hath lain too long in some Morphean close,—Till on his dreaming wings the ruined roseFell lightly, and the rose-red leaves were deep.Alas, alas, for Love is overlate!Far-wandering, alone, we know not where,He found the white and purple poppies fair,Nor heard the Summer pass importunate.Ah, Love, can we forgive thy loitering?The golden Summer, as a dream foregoneIs changed—till in our eyes the ashen dawnOf Autumn kindles.**** We have heard thy wingBut with a sound of sighing; heart on heart,In our own sighs we hear thy wing depart.
Ah, woe is me, for Love hath lain asleep,Hath lain too long in some Morphean close,—Till on his dreaming wings the ruined roseFell lightly, and the rose-red leaves were deep.Alas, alas, for Love is overlate!Far-wandering, alone, we know not where,He found the white and purple poppies fair,Nor heard the Summer pass importunate.Ah, Love, can we forgive thy loitering?The golden Summer, as a dream foregoneIs changed—till in our eyes the ashen dawnOf Autumn kindles.**** We have heard thy wingBut with a sound of sighing; heart on heart,In our own sighs we hear thy wing depart.
Ah, woe is me, for Love hath lain asleep,Hath lain too long in some Morphean close,—Till on his dreaming wings the ruined roseFell lightly, and the rose-red leaves were deep.Alas, alas, for Love is overlate!Far-wandering, alone, we know not where,He found the white and purple poppies fair,Nor heard the Summer pass importunate.Ah, Love, can we forgive thy loitering?The golden Summer, as a dream foregoneIs changed—till in our eyes the ashen dawnOf Autumn kindles.**** We have heard thy wingBut with a sound of sighing; heart on heart,In our own sighs we hear thy wing depart.
Ah, woe is me, for Love hath lain asleep,Hath lain too long in some Morphean close,—Till on his dreaming wings the ruined roseFell lightly, and the rose-red leaves were deep.
Ah, woe is me, for Love hath lain asleep,
Hath lain too long in some Morphean close,—
Till on his dreaming wings the ruined rose
Fell lightly, and the rose-red leaves were deep.
Alas, alas, for Love is overlate!Far-wandering, alone, we know not where,He found the white and purple poppies fair,Nor heard the Summer pass importunate.
Alas, alas, for Love is overlate!
Far-wandering, alone, we know not where,
He found the white and purple poppies fair,
Nor heard the Summer pass importunate.
Ah, Love, can we forgive thy loitering?The golden Summer, as a dream foregoneIs changed—till in our eyes the ashen dawnOf Autumn kindles.**** We have heard thy wingBut with a sound of sighing; heart on heart,In our own sighs we hear thy wing depart.
Ah, Love, can we forgive thy loitering?
The golden Summer, as a dream foregone
Is changed—till in our eyes the ashen dawn
Of Autumn kindles.**** We have heard thy wing
But with a sound of sighing; heart on heart,
In our own sighs we hear thy wing depart.