Page:Poems Probyn.djvu/42

38

RONDEL.

Thick in the path the leaves lie dead;
 The days of laughter are gone from me;
The blossom has dropped, and the summer fled;
 Swallows are all flown over the sea.
 Guessed we never the end—not we!
Of the songs we sung, and the words we said—
Thick in the path the leaves lie dead;
 The days of laughter are gone from me.

The goblet we broke when the wine was red,
 Never again. can it brimming be;
Never put back the petals shed,
 When we snatched the roses, and shook the tree;
Thick in the path the leaves lie dead;
 The days of laughter are gone from me.