Do You Remember?

He dragged me through the hedge,
“you used to laugh,” he said, “Lizeth,
laugh and forget, be glad”;
he kissed my face, “my flower, you arc too pale,
I’ll get you eglantine and the red pinks,
that we called sops-in-wine — do you remember?”
A bird whistled and a bird replied,
“so you see, everywhere, two and two,” he said,
“under the blossoming trees, the chestnut spire,
the pear; you must have missed the garden,
that long year. London was always drear”;
he drew me down beside him on the grass,
and he unfastened shoulder-clasp and band,
and cupped my breasts within his firm young hands,
“so here,” he said, “are peonies — and here — no rose is half so dear.”