New Spring, 27

Have I not the self-same vision
Dreamt before of all these blisses?
Were there not these same elysian
Looks of love, and flowers, and kisses?

By the stream the moon was peeping
Through the foliage of our bower;
Marble-gods still watch were keeping
At the entrance in that hour.

Ah! I know how soon is over
Every sweet and blissful vision,
How the snow’s cold dress doth cover
Heart and tree in sad derision.

How e’en we are fast congealing,
Careless, and no love possessing,
We, who’re now so softly feeling,
Heart to heart so softly pressing!