Classic Poem

Come, close your eyes and let us dream together
That June-time's glow is here;
See not the coming of the snow's first feather,
Hear not the wind's voice drear.

Oh, let's float back to where the roses tremble,
And breezes lift your hair;
And these pink asters,—do they not resemble
The climbing roses there?

You will not dream? How, then, can you remember
The month that bore our love,
Or taste its sweetness in this dark December,
All gloom the mistress of?

The asters faint are but the ghosts of roses
(Hold, see them not, I meant),
And no fern-frond in all the land uncloses;
The summer's gold is spent.

How can we keep the past and drink its sweetness,
How walk in love's dear ways,
If in this winter-cold and incompleteness
We dream not of June days?

Love is, you say, no child of change and season,—
He is our heart's desire;
Dreams will not keep him: take a woman's reason,
And make a warmer fire.