PERVIGILIUM
When the world returns to Spring,
In the commonwealth of races
Every Poet shall be King
With a court of happy faces:
Maidens in a rosy ring
Shall be lavish of embraces;
Every night shall throb with music: all the reeling world shall sing.
I must dream no moro to-day:
Children, home! we cannot sever
Pain and Grief and Death whose sway
Stands unalterable ever.
Though you roam the woods alway,
Vain is love, and vain endeavour.
Sorrow breathes among the woodland; whispers break upon our play.
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