The Dittany

The scent of dittany was hot.
Its smell intensified the heat:
Into his brain it seemed to beat
With memories of a day forgot,
When she walked with him through the wheat,
And noon was heavy with the heat.

Again her eyes gazed into his
With all their maiden tenderness;
Again the fragrance of her dress
Swooned on his senses; and, with bliss,
Again he felt her heart's caress
Full of a timid tenderness.

What of that spray she plucked and gave?
The spray of this wild dittany,
Whose scent brought back to memory
A something lost, beyond the grave. —
He knew now what it meant, ah me!
That spray of withered dittany.

How many things he had forgot! —
Far, lovely things Life flings away! —
And where was she now? —Who could say? —
The dittany, whose scent was hot,
Spoke to his heart; and, old and gray,
Through the lone land he went his way.