IN ANY GARDEN
283
From flower to flower the echo caught the cry;
The hollyhock let drop its crimson bell:
“For me! Ah, not for me! I shall not die”—
The pale rose shook till all her petals fell
But when the youth reached that green canopy
Where he had watched the digger, there was none,
Nor any grave. There only could he see
The shadow of the yew tree in the sun.
“'Twas but the shade and shaking of your leaf,”
He smiled — then shuddered as he turned away.
It shook in silent merriment—or grief.
With tears or laughter—which, no man can say.
