Poems (Waldenburg)/Regrets
For works with similar titles, see Regrets.
REGRETS.
I send you camelias white and redTo wear to-night in your hair.The lilies and roses of old are dead, Their fragrance scattered—where?
We will meet to-night in the gay saloon'Mid music and glitter of gold,Not 'neath the light of a tremulous moon As we met in days of old!
Flowers there'll be and perfume of musk,Quivering music, all in tune,My heart is not, for I think of the dusk Of those summer eves in June.
There was no music of brazen bandBut the nightingale's chant in the tree,Not hot house flowers, you held in your hand, Wild roses you gave to me.
Your dress was white and your pure young faceWith its violet-eyes looked up to mine.As you sat half hidden in my embrace And played with a jasmine vine
That trailed its tendrils over your armsWith its delicate pink-tinged, odorous flowers.While the moon looked down with her magic charm In those beautiful eves of ours!
That was for life worth living and it was then,Pure thoughts were spoken and true;We were ourselves as all women and men Should be—how is it with you?
To laugh and to sigh, to jest and to seemAppears to me, as the knellOf that bright faith cherished in early dream That only love was well!
But then you women make your fateNot with your hearts, but letYour ambition choose you a mate And teach your heart to forget.
You teach it, but does it learn? I think not quite,But comes to you in its shroudBringing dead roses at hush of night, And tearing away the cloud
Of dross and new things, it leads you backTo the flowers of that olden day,To yourself you say as you thus retrack, "Oh that was the better way."
Till the morning comes and you see milord,Your horses and jewels and all things rare,Then you say to your heart the cruel word, "It is better as things are."
N'importe, keep these for the poor heart's sake,Things change, the flowers are cold you see,So are you when your heart is not awake, And perhaps I too shall be!