 | Songs of summer |  |
60
“BURIED IN SONGS THAT NEVER YET WERE SUNG.”
Could I arrest the flight of Time,
Revive the years of yore,
I would not ask one sorrow less,
Or know one joy the more:
It were enough to sing the songs
I should have sung before.
Revive the years of yore,
I would not ask one sorrow less,
Or know one joy the more:
It were enough to sing the songs
I should have sung before.
My days and years have silent been,
For all that I have sung:
Some dreamy rhymes have dropped from me,
Some sad hath sorrow wrung;
But nothing great; and now, alas!
I am no longer young.
For all that I have sung:
Some dreamy rhymes have dropped from me,
Some sad hath sorrow wrung;
But nothing great; and now, alas!
I am no longer young.
I would recall my early dreams,
But they are dead to me;
As well with last year's withered buds
Reclothe a this year's tree:
It is not what I might have been,
But what I yet may be.
But they are dead to me;
As well with last year's withered buds
Reclothe a this year's tree:
It is not what I might have been,
But what I yet may be.
61
That thought alone avails me now,
And all regrets are vain:
They seem to bring a dreamy bliss,
But bring a certain pain:
To him who works, and only him,
The Past returns again.
And all regrets are vain:
They seem to bring a dreamy bliss,
But bring a certain pain:
To him who works, and only him,
The Past returns again.
| Songs of summer | |