The Night Mail and Other Poems

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Of science or love’s compliment,

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I ween they smelt as sweet.

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It did not move my grief to see

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The trace of human step departed:

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Because the garden was deserted,

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The blither place for me!

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Friends, blame me not! a narrow ken

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Hath childhood ’twixt the sun and sward:

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We draw the moral afterward—

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We feel the gladness then.

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And gladdest hours for me did glide

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In silence at the rose-tree wall:

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Upon the other side.

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Nor he nor I did e’er incline

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To peck or pluck the blossoms white:—