Explore "Summer is Ended" by Christina Georgina Rossetti on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose / Scentless, colorless, _this! _ / Will it ever be thus (who knows? ) / Thus with our bliss, / If we wait till the close?
Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end / Sooner, later, at last, / Which nothing can mar, nothing mend: / An end locked fast, / Bent we cannot re-bend.