Two Summers

LAST summer, when athwart the sky
Shone the immeasurable days,
We wandered slowly, you and I,
Adown these leafy forest-ways,

With laugh and song and sportive speech,
And mirthful tales of earlier years,
Though deep within the soul of each
Lay thoughts too sorrowful for tears,

Because — I marked it many a time —
Your feet grew slower day by day,
And where I did not fear to climb
You paused to find an easier way.

And all the while a boding fear
Pressed hard and heavy on my heart;
Yet still with words of hope and cheer
I bade the gathering grief depart,

Saying, — “ When next these purple bells
And these red columbines return, —
When woods are full of piny smells,
And this faint fragrance of the fern,—

“ When the wild white-weed’s bright surprise
Looks up from all the strawberried plain,
Like thousands of astonished eyes, —
Dear child, you will be well again ! ”

Again the marvellous days are here ;
Warm on my cheek the sunshine burns,
And fledged birds chirp, and far and near
Floats the strange sweetness of the ferns.

But down these ways I walk alone,
Tearless, companionless, and dumb,—
Or rest upon this way-side stone,
To wait for one who does not come.

Yet all is even as I foretold :
The summer shines on wave and wild,
The fern is fragrant as of old,
And you are well again, dear child !