 | Teresa and Other Poems |  |
58
SONG I
[In days of the orchard-blossom]
In days of the orchard-blossom,
In nights of the brown bird's song,
When the wan earth bares her bosom
To the sun that has tarried long;
By streams where of old we wandered,
In woods where the violet blew,
Where the wealth of the spring I squandered
To weave in a garland for you;
Oh, day will seem long to my sorrow,
And night all too brief for my tears,
To-morrow, and yet to-morrow,
And years on years.
In nights of the brown bird's song,
When the wan earth bares her bosom
To the sun that has tarried long;
By streams where of old we wandered,
In woods where the violet blew,
Where the wealth of the spring I squandered
To weave in a garland for you;
Oh, day will seem long to my sorrow,
And night all too brief for my tears,
To-morrow, and yet to-morrow,
And years on years.
When the glances of fell December
Are death to the dancing brook,
And hope is sweet to remember
In the warmth of the ingle-nook;
When the song goes up to the rafter,
And frolic and feast befall,
And the thought of change hereafter
Is hid from the heart of all;
Oh, night will seem long to my sorrow,
And day all too brief for my tears,
To-morrow, and yet to-morrow,
And years on years.
Are death to the dancing brook,
And hope is sweet to remember
In the warmth of the ingle-nook;
When the song goes up to the rafter,
And frolic and feast befall,
And the thought of change hereafter
Is hid from the heart of all;
Oh, night will seem long to my sorrow,
And day all too brief for my tears,
To-morrow, and yet to-morrow,
And years on years.
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