Classic Poem

Hid in an antique box,
With faded leaf and flower
(The only fitting gifts
Of love that lives an hour),
Gemmed with a diamond tear
For joy that could not cling,
Behold the word inside,
For " Toujours , " says the ring!

She sometimes lifts the lid,
With light and careless laugh,
And reads the lying word,
Love's mocking epitaph.
She has no sighs or tears
For such a foolish thing
As love dead long ago,
Yet — " Toujours , " says the ring!

But in soft nights of May
The proud and silent heart
Owns to itself a truth,
And spurns its wonted part.
It cries out for the grace
Of one departed spring,
" Toujours , " admits the soul,
And " Toujours , " says the ring!