The Wreath

The Wreath

Summer , be silent for one hour
That I may mourn :
Where in your joyous stir
May I find words to weave a wreath for her
Who comes no more ?

There is a numbness of the heart
Beyond such words :
Though all your joys concert
They are not skilled to salve or tent the hurt
As once they were .

Words of regret , like a sweet air
In dreaming heard ,
That half-remembered here
Falsifies echo , mocks the waking ear ,
I weave for her .

No joy may lure the heart from care ,
No beauty storm:
Silence alone and sure
May quicken grief , release sweet words for cure ,
The dream restore .

[Undated; but by writing and pen it may belong in 1951]