Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

Philip Bourke Marston 1850–87

After Summer

WE ’LL not weep for summer over—

No, not we:

Strew above his head the clover,—

Let him be!

Other eyes may weep his dying,

Shed their tears

There upon him, where he ’s lying

With his peers.

Unto some of them he proffer’d

Gifts most sweet;

For our hearts a grave he offer’d,—

Was this meet?

All our fond hopes, praying, perish’d

In his wrath,—

All the lovely dreams we cherish’d

Strew’d his path.

Shall we in our tombs, I wonder,

Far apart,

Sunder’d wide as seas can sunder

Heart from heart,

Dream at all of all the sorrows

That were ours,—

Bitter nights, more bitter morrows;

Poison-flowers

Summer gather’d, as in madness,

Saying, “See,

These are yours, in place of gladness,—

Gifts from me”?

Nay, the rest that will be ours

Is supreme,

And below the poppy flowers

Steals no dream.