A Discord
Arthur O'Shaughnessy
1844 to 1881
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It came to pass upon a summer’s day,
When the flowers indeed my soul had caught
Fresh bloom, turned their richness into thought,
That—having made my footsteps to stray—
They brought me wandering by some sudden
Back to the bloomless city, and athwart
The doleful and many a closed-up court
That prisoned here and a spent noon-ray.
O how most bitterly upon me
The sight of all the summerless lost folk!—
verily their music and their gladness
Could only seem me like so much sadness,
Beside the inward rhapsody art
And flowers and Chopin-echoes at my heart.
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