When this, our rose, is faded, <br />And these, our days, are done, <br />In lands profoundly shaded <br />From tempest and from sun: <br />Ah, once more come together, <br />Shall we forgive the past, <br />And safe from worldly weather <br />Possess our souls at last? <br /> <br />Or in our place of shadows <br />Shall still we stretch an hand <br />To green, remembered meadows, <br />Of that old pleasant land? <br />And vainly there foregathered, <br />Shall we regret the sun? <br />The rose of love, ungathered? <br />The bay, we have not won? <br /> <br />Ah, child! the world's dark marges <br />May lead to Nevermore, <br />The stately funeral barges <br />Sail for an unknown shore, <br />And love we vow to-morrow, <br />And pride we serve to-day: <br />What if they both should borrow <br />Sad hues of yesterday? <br /> <br />Our pride! Ah, should we miss it, <br />Or will it serve at last? <br />Our anger, if we kiss it, <br />Is like a sorrow past. <br />While roses deck the garden, <br />While yet the sun is high, <br />Doff sorry pride for pardon, <br />Or ever love go by.<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/amantium-irae-2/
