Spring
HOW the old Earth is young this sunny day!
Spring wrapt in her green mantle newly donned,
And shod with flowers, comes smiling on her way;
To her soft whisper all the groves respond,
While I alone, what time the woods are gay,
Fade as a leaf, and wither and decay.
Mocked by returning Spring, I turn aside
To my grey cloister. Never more for me
Will her blythe message in my heart abide
To cheer me with its green felicity.
Hers is the voice of youth, of hope new born,
And wakes no echo in a life outworn.
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