Just ere they bore him to the tomb.
Ah, yes, thou sweet, beguiling spring,
Of thee, my inmost heart would sing.
"The time of love," all bards agree
To sing in merry notes to thee.
Yea, such thou art, and happy they
Who walk in love's delightful day
Along the path thy flakes hath strewn,
And know indeed her constant boon.
But what of him who walks alone,