I made another garden, yea, <br />For my new Love: <br />I left the dead rose where it lay <br />And set the new above. <br />Why did my Summer not begin? <br />Why did my heart not haste? <br />My old Love came and walk’d therein, <br />And laid the garden waste. <br />She enter’d with her weary smile, <br />Just as of old; <br />She look’d around a little while <br />And shiver’d with the cold: <br />Her passing touch was death to all, <br />Her passing look a blight; <br />She made the white rose-petals fall, <br />And turn’d the red rose white. <br />Her pale robe clinging to the grass <br />Seem’d like a snake <br />That bit the grass and grounds, alas! <br />And a sad trail did make. <br />She went up slowly to the gate, <br />And then, just as of yore, <br />She turn’d back at the last to wait <br />And say farewell once more.<br /><br />Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-14/
