SPRING WIND IN LONDON
It was that magic, silent hour. . . .
The branches grew so tall
They twined themselves into a bower.
The sun shone. . . and the fall
The branches grew so tall
They twined themselves into a bower.
The sun shone. . . and the fall
Of yellow blossom on the grass!
You feel that golden rain?
Both of you could not hold, alas,
(Both of you tried—in vain)
A memory, stranger. So I pass. . . .
It will not come again. 1909.
You feel that golden rain?
Both of you could not hold, alas,
(Both of you tried—in vain)
A memory, stranger. So I pass. . . .
It will not come again. 1909.
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