68
AN IDYL
Glad voices of children
On light winds are borne,
And the heart of all nature
Beats gladly this morn.
But what does it matter,
This fullness of earth?
And what do I care for
These voices of mirth?
For the hand of the Chastener
Upon me is lain,
And my young heart is pierced
With arrows of pain.
Earth's beauty, once pleasing,
Now grieveth me sore,
Since the eyes so beloved
Shall view it no more.
The song of the bird
In the neighboring tree
Makes me wish he were chanting
A requiem for me.
And I mourn that the flowers,
Whose bright banners wave,
On light winds are borne,
And the heart of all nature
Beats gladly this morn.
But what does it matter,
This fullness of earth?
And what do I care for
These voices of mirth?
For the hand of the Chastener
Upon me is lain,
And my young heart is pierced
With arrows of pain.
Earth's beauty, once pleasing,
Now grieveth me sore,
Since the eyes so beloved
Shall view it no more.
The song of the bird
In the neighboring tree
Makes me wish he were chanting
A requiem for me.
And I mourn that the flowers,
Whose bright banners wave,
