Poems (Rossetti, 1901)/Three Seasons
THREE SEASONS.
"A cup for hope!" she said,In springtime ere the bloom was old The crimson wine was poor and cold By her mouth's richer red.
"A cup for love!"how low, How soft the words; and all the while Her blush was rippling with a smile Like summer after snow.
"A cup for memory!"Cold cup that one must drain alone: While autumn winds are up and moan Across the barren sea.
Hope, memory, love: Hope for fair morn, and love for day, And memory for the evening grey And solitary dove.