Poems (Prescott)/Forgetfulness
FORGETFULNESS
She died full twenty years ago; Her lover drew his breath to weep; Her grave is overgrown. And so He giveth His beloved sleep.
The marble slab in ruin lies: The mound has sunken year by year; But one to her are smiles or sighs, Or steps that linger near.
Neglected died the sweet-brier rose Her lover set, with eyes still wet,Forgotten like his early woes, Untended by regret.
The seasons wax, the seasons wane, She does not mark their constant flow; Nor sun, nor snow, nor summer rain Delights the heart below.
The noises from the village street, The stir about the homes beneath,Come borne unto her still retreat By winds that idly breathe.
She has no part in anything That makes the pulses thrill and beat, No part in what the days may bring Of bitter or of sweet.
Long since her lover lost his way To that green mound where roses grew Long since he wiped his tears away, And ceased to make ado.
But still the wild-flowers tangle there Among the ferns that grow knee-deep; The bird builds and the bees hum where He giveth His beloved sleep.