Amy Lowell: Aftermath


I learnt to write to you in happier days,  And every letter was a piece I chipped  From off my heart, a fragment newly clipped From the mosaic of life; its blues and grays, Its throbbing reds, I gave to earn your praise.  To make a pavement for your feet I stripped  My soul for you to walk upon, and slipped Beneath your steps to soften all your ways.  But now my letters are like blossoms pale We strew upon a grave with hopeless tears.  I ask no recompense, I shall not fail Although you do not heed; the long, sad years  Still pass, and still I scatter flowers frail, And whisper words of love which no one hears.