 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
362
FOREVER AND A DAY
SONG
I
I little know or careIf the blackbird on the bough
Is filling all the air
With his soft crescendo now;
For she is gone away,
And when she went she took
The springtime in her look,
The peachblow on her cheek,
The laughter from the brook,
The blue from out the May—
And what she calls a week
Is forever and a day!
II
It's little that I mindHow the blossoms, pink or white,
At every touch of wind
Fall a-trembling with delight;
For in the leafy lane,
Beneath the garden-boughs,
And through the silent house
One thing alone I seek.
363
The May is not the May,
And what she calls a week
Is forever and a day!
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |