Love's Old Sweet Song / A sheaf of latter-day love-poems gathered from many sources

by Unknown

I.

THE ancient memories buried lie,
And the olden fancies pass;
The old sweet flower-thoughts wither and fly,
And die as the April cowslips die
That scatter the bloomy grass.

II.

All dead, my dear! And the flowers are dead,
And the happy blossoming spring;
The winter comes with its iron tread,
The fields with the dying sun are red,
And the birds have ceased to sing.

III.

I trace the steps on the wasted strand
Of the vanished springtime’s feet:
Withered and dead is our Fairyland,
For Love and Death go hand in hand—
Go hand in hand, my sweet!

Major.

I.

Oh, what shall be the burden of our rhyme,
And what shall be our ditty when the blossom’s on the lime?
Our lips have fed on winter and on weariness too long:
We will hail the royal summer with a golden-footed song.