The Garden of Shadow
 
Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden’s close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year’s rose.
 
O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit!
Can famine be so nigh to harvesting?
Love, that was songful, with a broken lute
In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring.
 
Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers,
And all thy garden change and glow with spring:
Love is grown blind with no more count of hours
Nor part in seed-time nor in harvesting.


Webpage © 2002 ELC
Lane Core Jr. (lane@elcore.net)
http://poetry.elcore.net/CatholicPoets/Dowson/Dowson33.html
Created November 12, 2002; not revised.