Explore "Aloes and Myrrh" by Gilbert Parker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Dead, with the dew on your brow, / Dead, with the may in your face, / Dead: and here, true to my vow, / I, who have won in the race, / Weave you a chaplet of song / Wet with the spray and the rime / Blown from your love that was strong -- / Stronger than Time.
August it was, and the sun / Streamed through the pines of the west; / There were two then -- there is one; / Flown is the bird from the nest; / And it is August again, / But, from this uttermost sea, / Rises the mist of my pain -- / You are set free.