Goblin Market and Other Poems (1862)/Three Seasons
THREE SEASONS.
"A cup for hope!" she said,In springtime ere the bloom was old:The crimson wine was poor and coldBy her mouth's richer red.
"A cup for love!" how low,How soft the words; and all the whileHer blush was rippling with a smileLike summer after snow.
"A cup for memory!"Cold cup that one must drain alone:While autumn winds are up and moanAcross the barren sea.
Hope, memory, love:Hope for fair morn, and love for day,And memory for the evening greyAnd solitary dove.