The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck : Only the fox is out, some heedless duck Or chicken to surprise. Remote, each single star Comes out, till there they are All shining brightly: how the dews fall damp! While close at hand the glowworm lights her lamp Or twinkles from afar. But evening now is done As much as if the sun Day-giving had arisen in the East: For night has come; and the great calm has ceased, The quiet sands have run. Blank sea to sail upon, Cold bed to sleep in : Good-by. While you clasp, I must be gone For all your weeping: I must die. A kiss for one friend, And a word for two,— Good-by: A lock that you must send, A kindness you must do : I must die. Not a word for you, Not a lock or kiss, Good-by. We, one, must part in two; Verily death is this: I must die. THREE SEASONS. "A CUP for hope!" she said, In springtime ere the bloom was old: The crimson wine was poor and cold By her mouth's richer red. "A cup for love!" how low, How soft the words; and all the while Her blush was rippling with a smile Like summer after snow. 66 A cup for memory!" Cold cup that one must drain alone : While autumn winds are up and moan Across the barren sea. |