A shaded lamp and a waving blind,
And the beat of a clock from a distant floor:
On this scene enter--winged, horned, and spined -
A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore;
While 'mid my page there idly stands
A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . .

Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.

Ourselves were wed one summer - dear
Your Vision - was in June
And when Your little Lifetime failed,
I wearied - too - of mine

NOW the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger,   
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws   
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.