Part 2 — OLD GARDENS
Reading edition
The white rose tree that spent its musk For lovers' sweeter praise, The stately walks we sought at dusk, Have missed thee many days.
Again, with once-familiar feet, I tread the old parterre— But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet Than when thy face was there.
I hear the birds of evening call; I take the wild perfume; I pluck a rose—to let it fall And perish in the gloom.
Arthur Upson [1877-1908]