The Difference

I walk among the daisies, as of old;

But he comes never more by lane or fold.

The same warm speedwell-field is dark with dew;

But he's away beyond a deeper blue.

A year to-day we saw the same flowers grow--

Last May! Last May! A century ago.

Above the speedwell leans the rosy tree

From which he plucked an apple bough for me.

Not all the blossom on the branches left

Can fill the place of that sweet bough bereft;

And none can fill the heart that loved him so

Last May! Last May! Eternities ago.