THE LOST MISTRESS

by: Robert Browning (1812-1889)

LL'S over, then: does truth sound bitter

As one at first believes?

Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter

About your cottage eaves!

 

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,

I noticed that, to-day;

One day more bursts them open fully

--You know the red turns gray.

 

To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?

May I take your hand in mine?

Mere friends are we,--well, friends the merest

Keep much that I resign:

 

For each glance of the eye so bright and black.

Though I keep with heart's endeavour,--

Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,

Though it stay in my soul for ever!--

 

Yet I will but say what mere friends say,

Or only a thought stronger;

I will hold your hand but as long as all may,

Or so very little longer!

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