THE REQUIEM OF THE DOVE
Across the marshes' willowy fringe and seas of sunlight golden,
Across the meadows purple-tinged with buds but half unfolden,
Where helpless, yearning tendrils cling,
And fancied fairies lightly swing,
With all the gladsome springtime bloom that brooks no phantom thought of gloom,
Is blent one song of sorrow.
Across the meadows purple-tinged with buds but half unfolden,
Where helpless, yearning tendrils cling,
And fancied fairies lightly swing,
With all the gladsome springtime bloom that brooks no phantom thought of gloom,
Is blent one song of sorrow.
Who is the bard that dares to sing one note of aught but gladness?
Who is the sprite that comes to ring one floral bell in sadness?
When perched upon the mossy wall
The meadow lark is prince of all,
While joy ecstatic at his call resounds from mere to mountain.
Who is the sprite that comes to ring one floral bell in sadness?
When perched upon the mossy wall
The meadow lark is prince of all,
While joy ecstatic at his call resounds from mere to mountain.
From orange groves and spicy isles gay minstrels are returning,
While roses glow with sunny smiles, their blush to ashes burning,
Stray ripples laugh through banks of fern,
Grim rocks the gladsome message learn,
The trees rejoice at Spring's return, and clap their hands for gladness.
While roses glow with sunny smiles, their blush to ashes burning,
Stray ripples laugh through banks of fern,
Grim rocks the gladsome message learn,
The trees rejoice at Spring's return, and clap their hands for gladness.
But over all this vernal glee 'midst Nature's reckless wooing,
Intrudes like sorrow's prophecy a mournful, plaintive cooing;
Somewhere a lonely songster sings
Of scattered leaves and vanished springs,
And all her pent-up anguish brings to mock the joy of Nature.
Intrudes like sorrow's prophecy a mournful, plaintive cooing;
Somewhere a lonely songster sings
Of scattered leaves and vanished springs,
And all her pent-up anguish brings to mock the joy of Nature.
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