Christina Georgina Rossetti



                   Three Seasons


                   "A cup for hope!" she said,
                   In springtime ere the bloom was old:
                   The crimson wine was poor and cold
                   By her mouth's richer red.
                   "A cup for love!" how low,
                   How soft the words; and all the while
                   Her blush was rippling with a smile
                   Like summer after snow.
                   "A cup for memory!"
                   Cold cup that one must drain alone:
                   While autumn winds are up and moan
                   Across the barren sea.
                   Hope, memory, love:
                   Hope for fair morn, and love for day,
                   And memory for the evening grey
                   And solitary dove.


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