Poetry Archives

I sought among the drifting leaves,
 The golden leaves that once were green,
To see if Love were hiding there
 And peeping out between.

For thro’ the silver showers of May
 And thro’ the summer’s heavy heat,
In vain I sought his golden head
 And light, fast-flying feet.

Perhaps when all the world is bare
 And cruel winter holds the land,
The Love that finds no place to hide
 Will run and catch my hand.

I shall not care to have him then,
 I shall be bitter and a-cold—
It grows too late for frolicking
 When all the world is old.

Then little hiding Love, come forth,
 Come forth before the autumn goes,
And let us seek thro’ ruined paths
 The garden’s last red rose.