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I.
I WISH that when you died last May,Charles, there had died along with you Three parts of spring’s delightful things; Ay, and, for me, the fourth part too.
II.
A foolish thought, and worse, perhaps!There must be many a pair of friends Who, arm in arm, deserve the warm Moon-births and the long evening-ends.
III.
So, for their sake, be May still May!Let their new time, as mine of old, Do all it did for me: I bid Sweet sights and sounds throng manifold.
IV.
Only, one little sight, one plant,Woods have in May, that starts up green Save a sole streak which, so to speak, Is spring’s blood, spilt its leaves between,—
V.
That, they might spare; a certain woodMight miss the plant; their loss were small: But I,—whene’er the leaf grows there, Its drop comes from my heart, that’s all. |