_O_, _how shall summer's honey breath hold out_ _Against the wrackful siege of battering days_? _Ask me not how they came_, _These songs of love and death_, _These dreams of a futile stage_, _These thumb-nails seen in the street_: _Ask me not how nor why_, _But take them for your own_, _Dear Wife of twenty years_, _Knowing_--_O_, _who so well_?-- _You it was made the man_ _That made these songs of love_, _Death_, _and the trivial rest_: _So that_, _your love elsewhere_, _These songs_, _or bad or good_-- _How should they ever have been_?…
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