From out the cool and soundless groves of Dream.

For in the Spring is such a bitter smart

Even the thought of it will break my heart,

So take me softly to a leafy bed

Where I shall dream and dream you are not dead!

The Sport of a God

Though they say Jove laughs at the lover’s vow—

At the lover’s vow that must break some day—

Still we smiled as we loved in a distant May

When the blooms were heavy upon the bough.

O, the mocking difference of then and now!

It isn’t a thought that will make one gay,

Though they say Jove laughs at the lover’s vow—

At the lover’s vow that must break some day.

Yet, perhaps, the god knows the best way how

To carry a mask when the feet are clay;

So I too shall laugh at the merry play,

For down in his heart there’s a knife, I trow,

Though they say Jove laughs at the lover’s vow.

Remembrance

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