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LOVE'S SEASONS.
When first you came, it was perpetual Spring,
Fourfold of rapture flamed in everything,
And all abroad the gods went wandering.
Then followed Summer, full, luxuriant;
We wrought together, and our days were spent
In love's fulfilment and life's sacrament.
'Tis Autumn now, and all that went before—
The joy of Spring, the Summer's golden store—
We harvest in our hearts to fail no more.
To fail no more? When winter storms must sweep
Across the shrines where we were wont to keep
Love's sacred tryst, and soon—so soon shall sleep?
Yea, Love, whate'er betide, I know the seed
Of what was wrought in faithful love and deed
Shall but lie dormant waiting higher need.
