Alas, alas, eheu!
That we meet but to bid adieu:
That the sands in Time’s ancient glass
Are so swift and few!
Alas, alas, eheu!
That the heart is only true
To gather, where false feet pass,
The thorn and rue!
A Spring Trouble.
WILLIAM MACDONALD
All the meadowlands were gay
Once upon a morn of May;
All the tree of life was dight
With the blossoms of delight.
And my whole heart was a-tune
With the songs of long ere noon—
Dew-bedecked and fresh and free,
As the unsunned meadows be.
“Lo!” I said unto my spirit,
“Earth and sky thou dost inherit.”
Forth I wandered, void of care,
In the largesse of the air.
By there came a damosel,
At a look I loved her well:
But she passed and would not stay—
And all the rest has gone away.
And now no fields are fair to see,
Nor any bud on any tree;
Nor have I share in earth or sky—
All for a maiden’s passing by!