ARE your grave eyes graver growing?
Sweetheart, may I look
At the treasured thoughts which move you
In the poet's book?
Stay not in the lazy shade
With the drowsy roses;
Come into the woods and see
Where I find my posies.
Has the buried singer left us
Songs to make you weep?
Are you saddened by the sorrow
That his numbers keep?
Or were all the songs he gave us
Born in happy hours?
Come with me, he found his music
Where I find my flowers.