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Gone.
For they are vanished from the trees,
And vanished from the thronging flowers,
Whose tender tones thrilled every breeze
And sped with mirth the flying hours.
No form nor shape my sad eye sees;
No faithful spirit haunts these bowers.
And vanished from the thronging flowers,
Whose tender tones thrilled every breeze
And sped with mirth the flying hours.
No form nor shape my sad eye sees;
No faithful spirit haunts these bowers.
Alone, alone, in sun or dew!
One fled to heaven, of earth afraid;
And one to earth, with eyes untrue
And lips of faltering passion strayed.
Nor shall the strenuous years renew
On any bough these leaves that fade.
One fled to heaven, of earth afraid;
And one to earth, with eyes untrue
And lips of faltering passion strayed.
Nor shall the strenuous years renew
On any bough these leaves that fade.
Long summer-days shall come and go—
No Summer brings the dead again.
I listen for that voice's flow
And ache at heart with deepening pain.
And one fair face no more I know,
Still living sweet, but sweet in vain.
No Summer brings the dead again.
I listen for that voice's flow
And ache at heart with deepening pain.
And one fair face no more I know,
Still living sweet, but sweet in vain.
