Than self-deceiving tears,
Poured idly over some dark page
Of earlier life, though pride or rage
A record of to-day engage,
A woe for future years?
Keble.
For Spring, and flowers of Spring,
Blossoms and what they bring,
Be our thanks given;
Than self-deceiving tears,
Poured idly over some dark page
Of earlier life, though pride or rage
A record of to-day engage,
A woe for future years?
Keble.
For Spring, and flowers of Spring,
Blossoms and what they bring,
Be our thanks given;