Celandine

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Celandine

Thinking of her had saddened me at first,

Until I saw the sun on the celandines lie

Redoubled, and she stood up like a flame,

A living thing, not what before I nursed,

The shadow I was growing to love almost,

The phantom, not the creature with bright eye

That I had thought never to see, once lost.

She found the celandines of February

Always before us all. Her nature and name

Were like those flowers, and now immediately

For a short swift eternity back she came,

Beautiful, happy, simply as when she wore

Her brightest bloom among the winter hues

Of all the world; and I was happy too,

Seeing the blossoms and the maiden who

Had seen them with me Februarys before,

Bending to them as in and out she trod

And laughed, with locks sweeping the mossy sod.

But this was a dream: the flowers were not true,

Until I stooped to pluck from the grass there

One of five petals and I smelt the juice

Which made me sigh, remembering she was no more,

Gone like a never perfectly recalled air.