The Garden's Loss

A Lily.
He will not speak to us again:
No more the sudden summer rain
Will fall from off his trembling leaves:
Even the scentless Tulip grieves.

Ah me! the loud noise of that night,
And that fierce blaze of blinding light
That slew him in the midst of bliss —
Reach out, O Rose, and let us kiss!
The Rose.
He was a friend to all indeed;
Even the wild unlovely Weed
Loved him and clove unto his root:
When next winds blow he shall be mute.

The Lily.
He was the noblest of all trees.

A Tulip.
Your sorrow cannot bring you ease.

The Lily.
Still we must mourn so great a one.
The Rose.
I would the summer-time were done!
The birds we loved sang in his boughs,
And in his branches made their house;
All graciously he bowed and swayed,
And, when of winds we were afraid,
How tenderly his boughs he moved,
A loving tree and well beloved.
An Elm.
He was a noble tree and vast;
His branches revelled in the blast:
I always took him for our king.
Yet better that he was so slain,
In midst of his loved wind and rain,
Than some sharp axe should lay him low.
The Rose.
Better! but now I only know
He shall not speak again to me —
Nor, Lily, shall he speak to thee.