Qui Docet, Discit

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I.

  When all the world was white with flowers,
  And Summer, in her sun-built towers,
  Stood smiling 'mid her handmaid Hours,
  Who robed her limbs for bridal;
  Somewhere between the golden sands
  And purple hills of Folly's lands,
  Love, with a laugh, let go our hands,
  And left our sides to idle.


  II.

  Now all the world is red with doom,
  And Autumn, in her frost-carved room,
  Bends darkly o'er the gipsy loom
  Of memories she weaves there;
  Who knocks at night upon the door,
  All travel-worn and pale and poor?--
  Open! and let him in once more,
  The Love that stands and grieves there.

© Madison Julius Cawein