Brier rose and woodbine flaunting by the wayside,
Field afoam with ox-eyes, crowfoot's flaming gold,
Poppies in the corn-rig, broom on every braeside,
Once again 'tis summer as in years of old--
Only in my bosom lags the winter's cold.
All among the woodland hyacinths are gleaming;
O the blue of heaven glinting through the trees!
Lapped in noonday languor Nature lies a-dreaming,
Lulled to rest by droning clover-haunting bees.
(Deeper dreams my dear love, slain beyond the seas.)
Lost against the sunlight happy larks are singing,
Lowly list their loved ones nestled in the plain;
Bright about my pathway butterflies are winging,
Fair and fleet as moments mourned for now in vain--
In my eyes the shadow, at my heart the pain.
A. B. GILLESPIE.
July 28, 1915.