Oh! it waited all through the year to bloom,
Waited, and weathered the wind, the gloom,
Pent, and folded, and shaded
Oh! it blossom’d at last for an hour, an hour,
The beautiful, beautiful sun-kiss'd flower!
And at blaze of the noontide faded.
Faded, and fell in the fervid air
That had nursed its waking, and made it fair;
Dead with the passion of living.
Oh! spent and lost, forever and aye!
A year of work for an hour of play!
A gift withdrawn at the giving!
How shall I measure the good, the ill,
The pain of waiting, the pain of fill,
Long hoping, and short fruition?
Shall I nip the buds lest they shed their flowers
In the swift, sweet warmth of meridian hours?
Shall I call the shedding perdition?
No: buds must open, and flowers must blow,
So kiss them passing, and let them go,
With not too heavy a sorrow;
Petals are frail of the fairest flower,
Yet the fruit at its broken heart hath power
To yield new beauty to-morrow.
