Philip Bourke Marston


HE, who those secrets whispered — he is dead —
No more the rose and lily shall confide
To him how faithless was the Wind that sighed
With fleeting love, rifled their bloom and fled;
The " Garden Fairies, " by Titania led,
Ring no more chimes of rapture since he died;
And from unseen " Wind Gardens, " where abide
The souls of blossoms, no sweet breath is shed.

His flowers and he have vanished: yet, who knows
Through what fair fields unwitnessed of the sun
He wanders, among blossoms red and white,
Fostered of Joy — where never chill blast blows,
And the glad year is always just begun? —
Nor Time, nor Death, immoral youth can blight.
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