Spring and Autumn

"Thou wilt forget me." "Love has no such word."
The soft Spring wind is whispering to the trees.
Among lime-blossoms have the hovering bees
Those whispers heard?

"Or thou wilt change." "Love changeth not:" he said.
The purple heather cloys the air with scent
Of honey. O'er the moors her lover went,
Nor turn'd his head.