Three Seasons

33 of 137 · 1 min of reading

'A cup for hope!' she said,

In springtime ere the bloom was old:

The crimson wine was poor and cold

By her mouth's richer red.

'A cup for love!' how low,

How soft the words; and all the while

Her blush was rippling with a smile

Like summer after snow.

'A cup for memory!'

Cold cup that one must drain alone: 10

While autumn winds are up and moan

Across the barren sea.

Hope, memory, love:

Hope for fair morn, and love for day,

And memory for the evening grey

And solitary dove.

· · ·

End of part 33 of 137