When the year turns weak and old,
When the breath of the bleak winds wears them away,
And they wither and droop in the mould.
“But they come again when the young earth feels
The new blood leap in her veins,
When the fountain of wonderful life unseals,
And the earth is alive with the rains.”
“I sow,” said Death; “but my flowers unseen
Pass away from the land of men,
Nor sighs nor tears through the long sad years