Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind <br />Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close <br />Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find <br />One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose. <br /> <br />O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit! <br />Can famine be so nigh to harvesting? <br />Love, that was songful, with a broken lute <br />In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring. <br /> <br />Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers, <br />And all thy garden change and glow with spring: <br />Love is grown blind with no more count of hours <br />Nor part in seed-time nor in harvesting.<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-garden-of-shadow/
