“O wanton youth, this wind was not
Over common highways blown
From gardens far from here--God wot!
It has caught that plaintive tone.
Listen! But ah! It touches you not!
Listen! But ah! I had forgot--
The heart of youth is stone.
“Did you not know such places were?
Lovely are they and few,
The gardens that breathe such perfumed air!
Listen! But what care you?
Over many a moon-lit terraced spot
It has come to claim its own
Over Marjoram and Melilot,
Over London Pride and Bergamot,
It has come to trouble, doubt it not,
All hearts save those of stone!”
--“I like not this breath in the swaying grasses!
I like not that shadow on the rustling trees!
I _suspect_ that wind as it softly passes
Back to its garden of memories!
Your walled-up pansies are faded and sere;
Your dark parterres of cypress-green
Make the very lizards listen in fear
Of phantom footsteps and forms unseen.
Your fountains are choked with hemlock weeds,
The toad croaks there and the night-owls call.
There are wandering dandelion-seeds
Where red rose-petals were wont to fall!
Oh woe-begone one, you can tempt me not
With your proud sad gardens, your wind that sighs,
Your Mignonette and your Melilot!
The heart of youth is wise.”