Well, is it done? is it over?
Three months in these groves I have been your lover,
Added my voice to the echoing chorus
Of those who loved here before us.
We have pressed the paths made sweet
By the pressure of bygone lovers' feet,
Have lain amid flowerless violet-beds
Where they laid their happy heads;
We have flung a red-rose petal
On the glass of the pond and watched it settle,
Then drift like a boat down one of her streams
With our cargo of hopes and dreams.
So many have come and gone,
Have done the things which we two have done:
Have leaned in revery sweet and solemn,
Hands laced, on the sundial's column:
Have found their three months as brief
As the life of a blade of grass, a leaf—
As eternal, too, as the leafage is
Have found their three months of bliss.
For us it is finished and over.
Our three months are spent when as lover and lover
We may roam these groves. But to-night we are nearest,
This being our last night, dearest,
The spirits of those who wander
Near our lily-pond, by our sundial yonder,
In our rose-realm ... Farewells are not easily spoken,
So their silence remains unbroken.
But I see through a mist of tears
This garden after a million years,
Where two shades more move eternally ...
Heart of mine, they are you and I.