Love and Grief.

A poem by Henry Newbolt

One day, when Love and Summer both were young,
Love in a garden found my lady weeping;
Whereat, when he to kiss her would have sprung,
I stayed his childish leaping.

"Forbear," said I, "she is not thine to-day;
Subdue thyself in silence to await her;
If thou dare call her from Death's side away
Thou art no Love, but traitor.

Yet did he run, and she his kiss received,
"She is twice mine," he cried, "since she is troubled;
I knew but half, and now I see her grieved
My part in her is doubled."

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