Does he remember that fair evening plucked
Out of the very heart of gracious June:
We walked through silent lanes and meadows bathed
In the white glory of the summer moon?
The cottage, half in shadow, where the scent
Of honeysuckle grew so subtly sweet,
And how the watch-dog bayed, and suddenly
The crickets loudly chirped beneath our feet?
Just where the little trembling stream
Splashed its white feathers o'er the rocky ledge,
He stopped to pull me roses, wild and sweet,
Trailing in thorny garlands from the hedge.
And there we lost the quiet evening's peace,
With angry eyes averted homeward came;
Yet though I was so troubled, did he know
I closely clasped his roses all the same?
And when our good-night came, I could not bear
In such unkind displeasure thus to part;
And longing so for peace, I nearer drew
And laid my drooping flowers upon his heart.
And as those roses on that summer eve
Told what my lips could never, never say,
Forth from the silence and the pain of years
My heart goes out and claims his heart today.
