Edmund William Gosse

Dejection and Delay

Canst thou not wait for Love one flying hour,
O heart of little faith? are fields not green
Because their rolling bounty is not seen?
Will beauty not return with the new flower?
Because the tir'd sun seeks the deep sea--bower
Where sleep and Tethys tenderly convene,
And night and starless slumber intervene,
Shall sunlight no more thrill the world with power?
True Love is patient ever; by the brooks
He hath his winter--dreams, a fluent choir,
And waits for summer to revive again;
He knows that by--and--by the woodland--nooks
Will overflow with blossoming green fire,
And swooping swallows herald the warm rain.