At a Gate On the Hill

From The Birmingham Age Herald, December 16, 1914. By Gervais Gage.

At a gate on the hill in the parting hour,
    When the wind blew soft on the sea,
He laid in the maiden’s hand a flower;
    “O sweet, thy pledge from me!
        Years shall be sped, the flower be dead,
            But not my love to thee;
                O not my love to thee!
            It liveth still in a heart on the hill
                In a tender memorie!”

At a gate on the hill, in a weary hour
    When the rough wind vexed the sea,
She held in her hand the faded flower;
    “O sweet, my pledge from thee!
        The years are sped, the flower is dead,
            But not thy love to me,
                Tho there come no news from the sea;
            It liveth still in a heart on the hill
                In a quenchless memorie!”

On a grave by the hill he knelt—alone,
    The wanderer, back from the sea;
He knelt alone by a white gravestone;
    And carven curiously,
        The scroll he read: —“The flower is dead;
            But not thy love in me,
                Tho thou stayest long on the sea;
            By a higher hill it waiteth still,
                At a fairer gate for thee;
            In a deathless tryst with thee!”