 | Flowers of the Night |  |
49
SONG.
Why art thou silent when each bird
And every freshet sings?
Poor heart, hast thou alone no word
To mingle with the spring's?
And every freshet sings?
Poor heart, hast thou alone no word
To mingle with the spring's?
No faintest word; the spring that gives
But gladdens whom it dowers;
On every tree there come young leaves,
To every field fresh flowers.
But gladdens whom it dowers;
On every tree there come young leaves,
To every field fresh flowers.
Spring gives to every flower a bee,
For every flower is fair;
But spring has now no gift for me,
And dumb is my despair.
For every flower is fair;
But spring has now no gift for me,
And dumb is my despair.
| Flowers of the Night | |