Grey gale tore the last vines away
Them that once clang’d fast the cold,
Shatter’d stone walls. Once green and fay
Then torn, joining the shadows, the old
Broken shades. Their scarred leaves
Ashen and faint, had ceased past dance.
With the wailing wind, the piercing knives
Lost and gone. Preys of Chance.

The pale petals of past blooms
Once beyond the bound of Castile
Then blanched and drain’d, with fated dooms
Faded, and was ripped to a thousand grizzle
Piece. Then with the softest touch, to dust
O to dust they were turn’d! No scent
Remain’d, all past elegance grew rust
The stalks wither’d, the roots bent.

Tussocks and weeds grew wild, yet they
Too, were dull and ail’d. Merg’d
With the ghost of old love, clay
Shaded, dry and still. As immerg’d
In solitude. In pensive they stood,
With grave sorrow, ashy and unmoved
Who would ever recall there once stood
A valley of tenderness? A mirage long removed

Heavy, leaden cloud rolled in the dark,
Weighty heaven, fully soaked and threaten’d
To drown. ‘Neath which the ancient bark
Of the raven oak lay bare. Frightened
Notes from ominous birds rang.
A ruin’d choir, for too few remain’d
Among the branches where Hope once sang
Now frost dwell alone, thick as blind

Alas, what became the ardent passion
The longing warmth, the seering love?
Where went the dream and wild Illusion?
The song took flight, no lark nor dove
The fog hang fast, the mist encaged
The wasted land where shadows edged.
Wherefore art thou? What vow engaged
Thee? Thy oath of yore was pledged
To the forlorn garden of the lost and past
Which thou didst cherish and left untend’d
O return! Thythm shall dote on the mourn unbent.