The rule of the world is heavy and hard,
Taketh of every life a share,
Strive as it may to cherish and guard
The dawning hope that was all so fair,
And yet, so sure as the night-wind blows,
Memory dwells in her place apart,
And the savor of rue or the breath of a rose
Brings peace out of trouble, dear heart, dear heart!
There was never a joy that the world can kill
So long as there lives a dream of the past,
For the alchemist in his fragrant still
Keeps fresh the dream to the very last.
So sure as the wind of the morning blows
To heal the trouble, to cool the smart,
The breath of lavender, thyme and rose
Will bring to thee comfort, dear heart, dear heart!