Three Songs , opus 62

Too late, alas! . . . . I came to find
  the lovely spring had fled.
Yet must I not regret the days
  of youth that now are dead;
For though the rosy buds of spring
  the cruel winds have laid,
Behold the clustering fruit that hangs
  beneath the leafy shade!

The dust of the morn had been laid by a shower,
And the trees by the bridge were all covered with flower,
When a white palfrey passed with a saddle of gold,
And a damsel as fair as the fairest of old.

But she veiled so discreetly her charms from my eyes
That the boy who was with her quite felt for my sighs;
And although not a light-o'-love reckoned, I deem,
It was hard that this vision should pass like a dream.

Alone I mount to the kiosque which stands
  on the river-bank, and sigh,
While the moonbeams dance on the tops of the waves
  where the waters touch the sky;
For the lovely scene is to last year's scene
  as like as like can be,
All but the friends, the much-loved friends,
  who gazed at the moon with me.