Would seem to say—“Will ye up and win
While the paths of life are green?”
But the outer joy on the soul’s annoy
Looks in and laughs in vain—
For the inner chains of the spirit’s pains
May ne’er be reft in twain;
And the song that erst in joy begun
Sinks into wail ere the setting sun,
A sad and deathful strain.
So I woo thee, Spring, and I wed thee, Spring,