And all the singers sing in vain,
Nor bring you back your flower again.

O have a care!--for this is all:
Let not your magic blossom fall.




BALLADE OF LOVE'S CLOISTER

Had I the gold that some so vainly spend,
For my lost loves a temple would I raise,
A shrine for each dear name: there should ascend
Incense for ever, and hymns of golden praise;
And I would live the remnant of my days,
Where hallowed windows cast their painted gleams,
At prayer before each consecrated face,
Kneeling within that cloister of old dreams.

And each fair altar, like a priest, I'd tend,
Trimming the tapers to a constant blaze,
And to each lovely and beloved friend
Garlands I'd bring, and virginal soft sprays
From April's bodice, and moon-breasted May's,
And there should be a sound for ever of streams
And birds 'mid happy leaves in that still place,--
Kneeling within that cloister of old dreams.

O'er missals of hushed memories would I bend,