190
I WOULD HAVE WEPT
Still the flower and tree 'neath the son
Unfolded their buds to bloom;
And the fly, clad in sombre grey,
Danced over the faint perfume.
And the sun coming forth from a cloud
Shone fair on a smiling land.
I said: Hush, questioning heart;
'Tis you cannot understand.
190
