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The year might age, and cloudy
The lessening day might close,
But air of other summers
Breathed from beyond the snows.
And I had hope of those.
The lessening day might close,
But air of other summers
Breathed from beyond the snows.
And I had hope of those.
They came and were and are not
And come no more anew;
And all the years and seasons
That ever can ensue
Must now be worse and few.
And come no more anew;
And all the years and seasons
That ever can ensue
Must now be worse and few.
So here's an end of roaming
On eves when autumn nighs:
The ear too fondly listens
For summer's parting sighs.
And then the heart replies.
On eves when autumn nighs:
The ear too fondly listens
For summer's parting sighs.
And then the heart replies.
❦
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