Lingering late in garden talk, My friend and I, in the prime of June. The long tree-shadows across the walk Hinted the waning afternoon; The bird-songs died in twitterings brief; The clover was folding, leaf on leaf.
Fairest season of all the year, And fairest of years in all my time; Earth is so sweet, and heaven so near, Sure life itself must be just at prime. Soft flower-faces that crowd our way, Have you no word for us to-day?
Each in its nature stands arrayed: Heliotropes to drink the sun; Violet-shadows to haunt the shade; Poppies, by every wind undone; Lilies, just over-proud for grace; Pansies, that laugh in every face.
Great bloused Peonies, half adoze; Mimulus, wild in change and freak; Dainty flesh of the China Rose, Tender and fine as a fairy's cheek; (I watched him finger the folds apart To get at the blush in its inmost heart.)
Lo, at our feet what small blue eyes! And still, as we looked, their numbers came Like shy stars out of the evening skies, When the east is gray, and the west is flame. --'Gather yourself, and give to me, Those Forget-me-nots,' said he.
Word of command I take not ill; When love commands, love likes to obey. But, while my words my thoughts fulfil, 'Forget me not,' I will not say. Vows for the false; an honest mind Will not be bound, and will not bind.
In your need of me I put my trust, And your lack of need shall be my ban; 'Tis time to remember, when you must; Time to forget me, when you can. Yet cannot the wildest thought of mine Fancy a life distuned from thine.
... Small reserve is between us two; 'Tis heart to heart, and brain to brain: Bare as an arrow, straight and true, Struck his thought to my thought again. 'Not distuned; one song of praise, First and third, our lives shall raise.'
Close we stood in the rosy glow, Watching the cloudland tower and town; Watching the double Castor grow Out of the east as the sun rolled down. 'Yonder, how star drinks star!' said he; 'Yield thou so; live thou in me.'
Nay, we are close--we are not one, More than those stars that seem to shine In the self-same place, yet each a sun, Each distinct in its sphere divine. Like to Himself art thou, we know; Like to Himself am I also.
What did He mean, when He sent us forth, Soul and soul, to this lower life? Each with a purpose, each a worth, Each an arm for the human strife. Armor of thine is not for me; Neither is mine adjudged by thee.