To W. B.
From the brake the Nightingale Sings exulting to the Rose;
Though he sees her waxing pale In her passionate repose, While she triumphs waxing frail, Fading even while she glows;
Though he knows How it goes -
Knows of last year's Nightingale Dead with last year's Rose.
Wise the enamoured Nightingale, Wise the well-beloved Rose!
Love and life shall still prevail, Nor the silence at the close Break the magic of the tale In the telling, though it shows -
Who but knows How it goes! -
Life a last year's Nightingale, Love a last year's Rose.
