And sleeps thy heart when flower and tree
Adorn the summer stillness?
And did young Spring pass over thee
In chillness?

Their scent delights and pleases,
On petalled breezes blown,
But in their beauty freezes
Thine own.

The flower awakes, the tree is leafed,
Yet love in thee is dumb,—
Flowers fall, fruits ripen, corn is sheafed,
Ho! Winter’s cold will come.

When wakens some November morn
Dew-soft, around thee brightly,
And blossoms on the grey hawthorn
Lie whitely,

Come thou, thy bosom beating,
And learn, through new-found bliss,
No time so joyous, fleeting,
As this.

Come thou, with shadows in thine eyes,
And singing in thy heart,
And learn, ’mid trees, with flowers and skies,
How young and dear thou art.