You and I shall part, and the cleavage will be hidden under living grass
and flowers that laugh in the sun.
15
Of all days you have chosen this one to visit my garden.
But the storm passed over my roses last night and the grass is strewn with
torn leaves.
I do not know what has brought you, now that the hedges are laid low and
rills run in the walks; the prodigal wealth of spring is scattered and the
scent and song of yesterday are wrecked.
Yet stay a while; let me find some remnant flowers, though I doubt if your
skirt can be filled.
The time will be short, for the clouds thicken and here comes the rain
again!
16
I forgot myself for a moment, and I came.
But raise your eyes, and let me know if there still linger some shadow of
other days, like a pale cloud on the horizon that has been robbed of its
rain.
For a moment bear with me if I forget myself.
The roses are still in bud; they do not yet know how we neglect to gather
flowers this summer.
The morning star has the same palpitating hush; the early light is enmeshed
in the branches that overbrow your window, as in those other days.
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