To P. A. G.

Here they trysted, here they strayed, In the leafage dewy and boon, Many a man and many a maid, And the morn was merry June.

'Death is fleet, Life is sweet,'

Sang the blackbird in the may;

And the hour with flying feet, While they dreamed, was yesterday.

Many a maid and many a man Found the leafage close and boon;

Many a destiny began -

O, the morn was merry June!

Dead and gone, dead and gone, (Hark the blackbird in the may!), Life and Death went hurrying on, Cheek on cheek--and where were they?

Dust on dust engendering dust In the leafage fresh and boon, Man and maid fulfil their trust -

Still the morn turns merry June.

Mother Life, Father Death (O, the blackbird in the may!), Each the other's breath for breath, Fleet the times of the world away.