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Synopsis

AN OLD STORY

    I

    It was roses, roses, all the way,
    With myrtle mixed in my path like mad:
    The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
    The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
    A year ago on this very day.

    II

    The air broke into a mist with bells,
    The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries.
    Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels—
    But give me your sun from yonder skies!"
    They had answered, "And afterward, what else?"

    III

    Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun
    To give it my loving friends to keep!
    Nought man could do, have I left undone:
    And you see my harvest, what I reap
    This very day, now a year is run.

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