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PLEASURE-PAIN.
143
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blossoms a - way; And scat-tered them through the gar - den,
rain and air; And when the dim Oc - to - ber With
lips of May. We bear the ripe fruit aft - ter,—Ah,
Tossed them in - to the mere: . . The sad tree moaned and
gold - en death was crowned, Un - der its heav - y,
me! for the tho't of pain!— We know the sweet - ness.
shuddered, "A - las! . . . A - las! the Fall is
groan - ing branch - es The tree stooped to the
and the beau - ty. And heart bloom nev-er a -
