Classic Poem

One brave look, holding hers—
There where the warm noontide
Washed all the long walk through the firs—
Fate had been defied.

One low word slowly said,
With Nature's own sure art,
His had not been a bended head,
Hers a broken heart.

Stern, unreturning hours
Came with that summer day.
They came and went: love's path of flowers
Was a desert way.