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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420921" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Love's Autumn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">YES, love, the Spring shall come again, <br> But not as once it came: <br>Once more in meadow and in lane <br> The daffodils shall flame, <br>The cowslips blow, but all in vain; <br> Alike, yet not the same. <br> <br>The roses that we pluck’d of old <br> Were dew’d with heart’s delight; <br>Our gladness steep’d the primrose-gold <br> In half its lovely light:<br>The hopes are long since dead and cold <br> That flush’d the wind-flowers’ white. <br> <br>Oh, who shall give us back our Spring? <br> What spell can fill the air <br>With all the birds of painted wing<br> That sang for us whilere? <br>What charm reclothe with blossoming <br> Our lives, grown blank and bare? <br> <br>What sun can draw the ruddy bloom <br> Back to hope’s faded rose? <br>What stir of summer re-illume <br> Our hearts’ wreck’d garden-close? <br>What flowers can fill the empty room <br> Where now the nightshade grows? <br> <br>’T is but the Autumn’s chilly sun<br> That mocks the glow of May; <br>’T is but the pallid bindweeds run <br> Across our garden way, <br>Pale orchids, scentless every one, <br> Ghosts of the summer day. <br> <br>Yet, if it must be so, ’t is well: <br> What part have we in June? <br>Our hearts have all forgot the spell <br> That held the summer noon; <br>We echo back the cuckoo’s knell,<br> And not the linnet’s tune. <br> <br>What shall we do with roses now, <br> Whose cheeks no more are red? <br>What violets should deck our brow, <br> Whose hopes long since are fled?<br>Recalling many a wasted vow <br> And many a faith struck dead. <br> <br>Bring heath and pimpernel and rue, <br> The Autumn’s sober flowers: <br>At least their scent will not renew <br> The thought of happy hours, <br>Nor drag sad memory back unto <br> That lost sweet time of ours. <br> <br>Faith is no sun of summertide, <br> Only the pale, calm light<br>That, when the Autumn clouds divide, <br> Hangs in the watchet height,— <br>A lamp, wherewith we may abide <br> The coming of the night. <br> <br>And yet, beneath its languid ray, <br> The moorlands bare and dry <br>Bethink them of the summer day <br> And flower, far and nigh, <br>With fragile memories of the May, <br> Blue as the August sky. <br> <br>These are our flowers: they have no scent <br> To mock our waste desire, <br>No hint of bygone ravishment <br> To stir the faded fire: <br>The very soul of sad content<br> Dwells in each azure spire. <br> <br>I have no violets: you laid <br> Your blight upon them all: <br>It was your hand, alas! that made <br> My roses fade and fall,<br>Your breath my lilies that forbade <br> To come at Summer’s call. <br> <br>Yet take these scentless flowers and pale, <br> The last of all my year: <br>Be tender to them; they are frail: <br> But if thou hold them dear, <br>I ’ll not their brighter kin bewail, <br> That now lie cold and sere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Howard+Payne">John Howard Payne</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420921" data-title="Love's Autumn de John Howard Payne" data-description="YES, love, the Spring shall come again, 
 But not as once it came: 
Once more in meadow and in lane 
 The daffodils shall flame, 
The cowslips blow, but all in vain; 
 Alike, yet not the same. 
 
The roses that we pluck’d of old 
 Were dew’d w..."></div>
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