Chapter II

If it be true
That garden flower or meadow tree
May hold still any memory
Of lovers past who once looked on
Their splendour or their purity,
So shall our love return once more
In that long hour of long regret
To give the rose, or in the oak restore,
Its sweetness or its strength,
Ere death come yet.

Thus shall it survive unconquered
Within the glory that belongs to simple things,
And find a joy again, in light that cleaves
The sky on summer break of day,
And find a joy again
In the sweet rain
That dwells in drops on hanging leaves.

And if on some fair eve, from depths of space,
Should come two lovers hand in hand,
The oak, like a large and puissant wing
Would reach its shadow out to where they stand,
And the rose would give them of its perfumed grace.