118 
WILD FLOWERS. 
Loved-one of my youth thou wast, 
Of my merry youth, 
And I see, 
Tearfully, 
All the fair and sunny past, 
All its openness and truth, 
Ever fresh and green in thee 
As the moss is in the sea. 
Thy little heart, that hath with love 
Grown colored like the sky above, 
On which thou lookest ever,— 
Can it know 
All the woe 
Of hope for what returneth never; 
All the sorrow and the longing 
To these hearts of ours belonging ? 
Out on it! no foolish pining 
. For the sky 
Dims thine eye, 
Or for the stars so calmly shining; 
Like thee let this soul of mine 
