Has summer come without the rose

Has summer come without the rose,
Or left the bird behind?
Is the blue changed above thee,
    O world? or am I blind?
Will you change every flower that grows,
    Or only change this spot—
Where she who said, I love thee,
    Now says, I love thee not?

The skies seemed true above thee;
    The rose true on the tree;
The bird seemed true the summer through;
    But all proved false to me:
World, is there one good thing in you—
    Life, love, or death—or what?
Since lips that sang I love thee
    Have said, I love thee not?

I think the sun’s kiss will scarce fall
    Into one flower’s gold cup;
I think the bird will miss me,
    And give the summer up:
O sweet place, desolate in tall
    Wild grass, have you forgot
How her lips loved to kiss me,
    Now that they kiss me not?

Be false or fair above me;
    Come back with any face,
Summer! do I care what you do?
    You cannot change one place—
The grass, the leaves, the earth, the dew,—
    The grave I make the spot,
Here where she used to love me,
    Here where she loves me not.