EVENING SONGS
Spring fluttered in from distant lands
To fill the world with yearning . . .
All hastened forth to greet the sun
From its lengthy dream returning.
The finches flew from out their nests
The children from each shanty,
Bright colored flowers in the fields
Exhaled their scented plenty.
Upon each branch new leaves push forth,
While the song birds chirp above
In every youthful, joyous heart
Sprout tender buds of love.
EVENING SONGS
I dreamt that you had passed away,
I heard the mournful knell
And all about me weeping, sighs,
Lamenting, rose and fell.
How queerly they prepared your bed;
With stone upon your grave.
They asked me that I write a verse
For you there to engrave.
O people, people made of stone
Here, take my heart instead.
And what I did not sing as yet
Engrave above her head.
You disbelieved my deepest love,
My words met your disdain.
Perhaps if this stone speaks to you
It shall not speak in vain.
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