Explore "Conclusion" by Madison Cawein on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
/ The songs Love sang to us are dead: / Yet shall he sing to us again, / When the dull days are wrapped in lead, / And the red woodland drips with rain.
/ The lily of our love is gone, / That touched our spring with golden scent; / Now in the garden low upon / The wind-stripped way its stalk is bent.
/ Our rose of dreams is passed away, / That lit our summer with sweet fire; / The storm beats bare each thorny spray, / And its dead leaves are trod in mire.
/ The songs Love sang to us are dead; / Yet shall he sing to us again, / When the dull days are wrapped in lead, / And the red woodland drips with rain.
/ The marigold of memory / Shall fill our autumn then with glow; / Haply its bitterness will be / Sweeter than love of long ago.
/ The cypress of forgetfulness / Shall haunt our winter with its hue; / The apathy to us not less / Dear than the dreams our summer knew.