In the sunny scented meadows,
By the basking summer sea,
I have watched the trooping shadows
Over lawn and over lea
Passing sadly, passing slowly,
Like the years of melancholy
That divide my days from thee.
By the fireside I have lingered,
Lived again the April morn
When young Eros, fiery-fingered.
In our heart of hearts was born;
When out hopes flew forth together,
Winged their way in halcyon weather,
And life’s winter was out-worn.
Here in Paris I remember
All the sweetness of the hours
When the russet-red September
Cast a glory on the bowers,
When at dawn we crossed the ferry,
Plucked the coral briony berry,
Sat among the fading flowers;
On that happier noontide glory
When I taught thee how to twine
Hyacinth and star-wort hoary
And the purple columbine,
All I told thee how Apollo,
Quoiting in the Spartan hollow,
Made the youth he loved divine.
From that tale of old-world sadness
Fell the shade of coming death
For one moment on our gladness: -
We were still and held our breath: -
While the thrushes sang in chorus,
and anemones nodded o’er us,
Lying low amid the heath.