You will not come again
Along the deep-banked lane
To where the field and fold so long have missed you;
You know no more the way
To where, so many a day
Before the world grew gray,
Your lover kissed you.
The wonders and delights
Of London days and nights
Hold fast a soul not made for pastoral pleasures;
The scent of mignonette
Brings to you no regret,
No withered flowers lie yet
Among your treasures.
And I, who long for you
Sad and glad seasons through,
Find my grief’ s heart in knowing grief will find you;
Some day you too will sigh,
And lay a dead flower by,
And weep to see joy lie
At last behind you.
What though the flower you hide
With London wire be tied?
What though the heart that broke your heart be rotten?
You too at last must miss
The smile, the word, the kiss,
And know how hard it is
To be forgotten.