Two little things, dear, I have seen
To-day that overflowed my breast with sorrow—
We may not stay here many another morrow.
Amongst the leafage, by its green
Still-living sisters tenderly enfolden,
I saw one single leaf grown dry and golden.
And down the alleys of the rose
Passing, I saw one lightly breathed-on blossom
Fall instantly deflowered to earth's brown bosom.
Compassionate summer ere she goes
Strikes tender notes surcharged with wistful warnings ...
Dear heart, we must begone ere many mornings.