Love's Landmarks

The woods we used to walk, my love, Are woods no more, But' villas' now with sounding names-- All name and door. The pond, where, early on in March, The yellow cup Of water-lilies made us glad, Is now filled up. But ah! what if they fill or fell Each pond, each tree, What matters it to-day, my love, To me--to thee? The jerry-builder may consume, A greedy moth, God's mantle of the living green, I feel no wrath; Eat up the beauty of the world, And gorge his fill On mead and winding country lane, And grassy hill. I only laugh, for now of these I have no care, Now that to me the fair is foul, And foul as fair.