Explore "Rencontre" by Henry Van Dyke on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Oh, was I born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late, / That I am going out the door while you come in the gate?
For you the garden blooms galore, the castle is _en fete_; / You are the coming guest, my dear, -- for me the horses wait.
I know the mansion well, my dear, its rooms so rich and wide; / If you had only come before I might have been your guide, / And hand in hand with you explore the treasures that they hide; / But you have come to stay, my dear, and I prepare to ride.
Then walk with me an hour, my dear, and pluck the reddest rose / Amid the white and crimson store with which your garden glows, -- / A single rose, -- I ask no more of what your love bestows; / It is enough to give, my dear, -- a flower to him who goes.
The House of Life is yours, my dear, for many and many a day, / But I must ride the lonely shore, the Road to Far Away: / So bring the stirrup-cup and pour a brimming draught, I pray, / And when you take the road, my dear, I'll meet you on the way.