166
III.
O YE VOICES.
O ye voices round my own hearth singing!
As the winds of May to memory sweet,
Might I yet return, a worn heart bringing,
Would those vernal tones the Wanderer greet,
Once again?
Never, never! Spring hath smiled and parted
Oft since then your fond farewell was said;
O'er the green turf of the gentle hearted,
Summer's hand the rose-leaves may have shed,
Oft again.
