The Last Fruit Off an Old Tree

Joy is the blossom, sorrow is the fruit,
Of human life; and worms are at the root.
(xv.)
" Why do I smile? " To hear you say
"One month, and then the shortest day! "
The shortest, whate'er month it be,
Is the bright day you pass with me.
(xxxiv.)
To his young Rose an old man said,
" You will be sweet when I am dead:
Where skies are brightest we shall meet,
And there will you be yet more sweet,
Leaving your winged company
To waste an idle thought on me."
(xv.)
Death stands above me, whispering low
I know not what into my ear:
Of his strange language all I know
Is, there is not a word of fear.
(EPIGRAMS.)
(LXXX.)
There is a flower I wish to wear,
But not until first worn by you —
Hearts-ease — of all earth's flowers most rare;
Bring it; and bring enough for two.