O April lover, hear the pipes that call,
The pipes of Pan a-blowing lustily,
They call to you and me, and he who hears
Must ever after be Young April’s thrall—
So, faring thus together, we shall see
The Islands of the Blest between the Spheres!
A Yesterday
I held you in my arms—so happy I,
Who quite forgot the while that moments fly;
Nor ever dreamed that they could pass away,