If still resentment burns

In thy cold breast, oh if

No more to pity turns,

No more, once tender, yearns

Thy love; oh yet forgive!...

Ask of the winter rain

June's withered rose again:

Ask grace of the salt sea:

She will not answer thee.

God would ten times have shriven

A heart so riven;

In her cold care thou'dst be

Still unforgiven.

[Pg 36]

[Pg 36]

SPRING

Once when my life was young,

I, too, with Spring's bright face

By mine, walked softly along,

Pace to his pace.

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