And but the wind, no other sound
Than a leaf that fluttered to the ground,
And a far-off robin singing,
We heard. You guessed my thoughts, and said:
‘In spring, the swallows who have fled
Will back be winging;
The trees a brighter emerald show,
The rose a richer crimson glow,
Than any gleamed in this year’s prime’—
All this was once upon a time