 | The Autumn Garden |  |
17
June
Ah! why my heart is beating is more than I can tell,
At the hawthorn-bloom like incense in the air,
And the cuckoo in the woodland that is calling like a bell,
Like a cracked bell calling me to prayer;
At the hawthorn-bloom like incense in the air,
And the cuckoo in the woodland that is calling like a bell,
Like a cracked bell calling me to prayer;
But I think the ringing cuckoo, with its hard hysteric cry,
Is youth in the spring-movement of the blood,
And the richness of the blossom a reminder we must die,
While life is tasting exquisitely good.
Is youth in the spring-movement of the blood,
And the richness of the blossom a reminder we must die,
While life is tasting exquisitely good.
Ah! the falling of the petals in the shivering silver night!
Ah! the turning wheel of years that will not stay!
I'd relinquish all the chances of to-morrows bold and bright
For one clutch at the delirium of to-day.
Ah! the turning wheel of years that will not stay!
I'd relinquish all the chances of to-morrows bold and bright
For one clutch at the delirium of to-day.
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