EDWARD FITZGERALD'S "THE MEADOWS IN SPRING"
FROM HONE'S YEAR BOOK
(See Letter 535, page 938)
'Tis a sad sight
To see the year dying;
When autumn's last wind
Sets the yellow wood sighing;
Sighing, oh sighing!
When such a time cometh,
I do retire
Into an old room,
Beside a bright fire;
Oh! pile a bright fire!
And there I sit
Reading old things
Of knights and ladies,
While the wind sings:
Oh! drearily sings!
I never look out,
Nor attend to the blast;
For, all to be seen,
Is the leaves falling fast:
Falling, falling!
But, close at the hearth,
Like a cricket, sit I;
Reading of summer
And chivalry:
Gallant chivalry!
Then, with an old friend,
I talk of our youth;
How 'twas gladsome, but often
Foolish, forsooth,
But gladsome, gladsome.
Or, to get merry,
We sing an old rhyme
That made the wood ring again
In summer time:
Sweet summer time!
Then take we to smoking,
Silent and snug:
Naught passes between us,
Save a brown jug;
Sometimes! sometimes!
And sometimes a tear
Will rise in each eye,
Seeing the two old friends,
So merrily;
So merrily!
And ere to bed
Go we, go we,
Down by the ashes
We kneel on the knee;
Praying, praying!
Thus then live I,
Till, breaking the gloom
Of winter, the bold sun
Is with me in the room!
Shining, shining!
Then the clouds part,
Swallows soaring between:
The spring is awake,
And the meadows are green,—
I jump up like mad;
Break the old pipe in twain;
And away to the meadows,
The meadows again!