Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950). Renascence and Other Poems. 1917.
11. Three Songs of Shattering
T
Budded, bloomed, and shattered,
During sad days when to me
Nothing mattered.
Still it seems a pity
No one saw,—it must have been
Very pretty.
Let the little birds sing;
Let the little lambs play;
Spring is here; and so ’tis spring;—
But not in the old way!
Where a plum-tree grew;
There you lifted up your face,
And blossoms covered you.
And the little lambs play,
Spring is here; and so ’tis spring—
But not in the old way!
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
Ere spring was going—ah, spring is gone!
And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,—
Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.
Browned at the edges, turned in a day;
And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,
And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!