I.
SPRING'S sweet odours from the meadow
Fling their fragrance far and wide,
And the tall trees cast the shadow
Of the winter's gloom aside;
But for me no spring is bearing
Gladness to my heart despairing;
Comes no more with soothing power
Kindly voice, or friendly hand,
Song of home, or breath of flower,
From my own dear native land.