The primrose and the cowslip once again
Lie on Earth's breast, a bridal pledge of gold;
Her love-laugh ripples low from field and fen—
Warm, sweet, she yieldeth to the strong Sun's hold.

Ah, fickle Earth, so eager to put on
Gay dress of bridal for another year!
Forgetful of the glad years dead and gone—
Content, if only any Spring be here.

But as for me, my Spring was one dear voice
Filling all other song with life and breath.
Now song and life are gone, shall I rejoice
In Spring's cold ghost, that walketh after death?