Classic Poem

Once there in my garden fair
Sang a bird of plumage rare,
From its throat there came to greet
My ear sweet music—strangely sweet.

Once a flower of lovely hue
In this self same garden grew,
Blossomed—oh, so sweetly there
That its breath perfumed the air.

Once a flower of lovely hue
This same garden murmured through,
Over shining stones it played,
Softest, richest music made.

In this garden 'neath a tree
That cast its copious shade for me,
Was a restful cool retreat
From the noonday's scorching heat.

Now no richly plumaged bird
Singing in my garden's heard,
A milder zone it's sought than this;
Ah, its sweet songs how I miss.

Now no flower of lovely hue
Glittering with morning dew
Sheds its perfume in the air—
It has dropped its petals fair.

In my garden near the hill
Flows the self same brooklet still,
But it makes no rippling sound
For with ice and snow 'tis bound.

And the elm tree that made
Such a copious, cooling shade,
Void of foliage is it now,
Naked each brown spreading bough.

Birdie, flower, brooklet, tree,
You all now are gone from me;
But 'till now I never knew
That I loved you as I do.

Little thought I, dear sweetheart,
On that morn ere we did part
When from me you claimed a kiss
That your presence I would miss;
For ere then I did not know—
Did not dream I loved you so.

Could we only know before
'Tis too late what is in store
For us; what of storm and rain,
What of sadness, grief and pain.

We'd enjoy the glad sunlight
While it lasts ere comes the night,
And our friends so kind and dear
We would love and prize and cheer.