 | Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan |  |
68
ON A BIRTHDAY.
Shall I lament my vanished spring?
Ah no, its joys went withering:
Its hopes, long sick, decayed and died
With its desires unsatisfied:
A moaning wind of discontent
Stripped the young boughs of bloom and scent;
The rain was raining every day.
Ah no, its joys went withering:
Its hopes, long sick, decayed and died
With its desires unsatisfied:
A moaning wind of discontent
Stripped the young boughs of bloom and scent;
The rain was raining every day.
Now though it be no longer May,
Oh heart, what youth renewed is ours!
With generous scarcely hoped-for flowers.
And the good summer but begun:
With longer days and riper sun,
And the large possibilities
Of gifts and grace and good increase
In the rich weather yet to come.
Oh heart, what youth renewed is ours!
With generous scarcely hoped-for flowers.
And the good summer but begun:
With longer days and riper sun,
And the large possibilities
Of gifts and grace and good increase
In the rich weather yet to come.
Nor shall the autumn strike us dumb
Who knows what fruit for us shall be
Swung in some ruddy-hearted tree;
What hopes shall find their harvesting
When outward birds are on the wing;
When pale September lights her fire—
Her Will-o'-the-Wisp on every briar—
What ship shall sail to shore at last?
Who knows what fruit for us shall be
Swung in some ruddy-hearted tree;
What hopes shall find their harvesting
69
When pale September lights her fire—
Her Will-o'-the-Wisp on every briar—
What ship shall sail to shore at last?
Nor shall we dread the winter blast
Or the long evening of our year
With nothing more to hope or fear:
Looking to keep Christ's festival,
In His own fair and lighted hall.
After the longest night is done,
Cometh the Christmas benison.
Or the long evening of our year
With nothing more to hope or fear:
Looking to keep Christ's festival,
In His own fair and lighted hall.
After the longest night is done,
Cometh the Christmas benison.
| Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan | |