CHERRY BLOSSOMS
THE blossoms white have covered the tree,
The blossoms that crowd when comes the spring,
These blossoms white are my songs to thee,
All, all my songs, that to thee I sing
From the deepest heart of me.
They are many as many my songs to thee
As the crowding blossoms that shield your head,
From the sunlight now,—soon, soon to be
A carpet white for your feet instead,
When they fell and forgotten be.
Though 'neath thy feet they die for thee
On the cold black earth, with another spring
More blossoms white shall cover the tree,
And thine, all thine, are the songs I sing,
As the singer must ever be.
