Classic Poem

To thee the flower-bright season brings
Glad thoughts of days and years unknown.
Thou see'st not summer's restless wings;
Thou see'st his light alone.

The thought of summers lying dead
With quiet hands most still and white
Comes not, when summer's rose blooms red
And summer's sun flames bright.

Before thee Love, superb and fair,
With summoning eyes that seek thee stands.
No ghost-love, sister to despair,
Wrings pale and piteous hands.

The lilies all, arrayed in white
Around thy path fresh fragrance pour.
No lily from beyond thy sight
Has passed, for evermore.

For thee life's harp triumphant rings;
The glad notes mingle not with tears:
No strange sigh shivers through the strings,
No wail from far-off years.

No proud carnation, fiery red,
No sun-crowned joy-delirious rose,
To thee with sudden doubt has said,
" What comes when sunshine goes? "

The wan tomb's gates gleam not each morn;
No spectres haunt thy sinless sleep.
Death trembles at a young girl's scorn;
Sin turns aside to weep.

Let many a summer smile and shine
For thee when ours have passed away,
And many a griefless thought be thine
On many a first of May!