Poems (Waldenburg)/Regrets

For works with similar titles, see Regrets.

REGRETS.

I send you camelias white and red
To wear to-night in your hair.
The lilies and roses of old are dead,
Their fragrance scattered—where?

We will meet to-night in the gay saloon
'Mid music and glitter of gold,
Not 'neath the light of a tremulous moon
As we met in days of old!

Flowers there'll be and perfume of musk,
Quivering music, all in tune,
My heart is not, for I think of the dusk
Of those summer eves in June.

There was no music of brazen band
But the nightingale's chant in the tree,
Not hot house flowers, you held in your hand,
Wild roses you gave to me.

Your dress was white and your pure young face
With its violet-eyes looked up to mine.
As you sat half hidden in my embrace
And played with a jasmine vine

That trailed its tendrils over your arms
With its delicate pink-tinged, odorous flowers.
While the moon looked down with her magic charm
In those beautiful eves of ours!

That was for life worth living and it was then,
Pure thoughts were spoken and true;
We were ourselves as all women and men
Should be—how is it with you?

To laugh and to sigh, to jest and to seem
Appears to me, as the knell
Of that bright faith cherished in early dream
That only love was well!

But then you women make your fate
Not with your hearts, but let
Your ambition choose you a mate
And teach your heart to forget.

You teach it, but does it learn? I think not quite,
But comes to you in its shroud
Bringing dead roses at hush of night,
And tearing away the cloud

Of dross and new things, it leads you back
To the flowers of that olden day,
To yourself you say as you thus retrack,
"Oh that was the better way."

Till the morning comes and you see milord,
Your horses and jewels and all things rare,
Then you say to your heart the cruel word,
"It is better as things are."

N'importe, keep these for the poor heart's sake,
Things change, the flowers are cold you see,
So are you when your heart is not awake,
And perhaps I too shall be!