Love to his singer held a glistening leaf, <br />And said: “The rose-tree and the apple-tree <br />Have fruits to vaunt or flowers to lure the bee; <br />And golden shafts are in the feathered sheaf <br />Of the great harvest-marshal, the year's chief, <br />Victorious Summer; aye, and 'neath warm sea <br />Strange secret grasses lurk inviolably <br />Between the filtering channels of sunk reef. <br />“All are my blooms; and all sweet blooms of love <br />To thee I gave while Spring and Summer sang; <br />But Autumn stops to listen, with some pang <br />From those worse things the wind is moaning of. <br />Only this laurel dreads no winter days: <br />Take my last gift; thy heart hath sung my praise.”<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lix-love-s-last-gift/
