Summer's Eve
Of many things which I would once proclaim
I cannot now assert that I am fond,
Although there still remains a pleasant name
To which I am in everlasting bond.
The skittish rose announcing summer’s eve
Is but the first of—Ah!—so many more,
And yet I cannot, true to conscience, leave
A jewel I have never seen before.
Before too long, the field of love is full
With many flowers prouder than the first,
But such am I: I find all treasures dull
If time enshrines a passion I have nursed.
No matter when my heart might crave repose,
I can’t forget the name of that first rose.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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