The Birds Come Back

The birds come back to their last year's nest,
And the wild-rose nods in the lane;
And gold in the east, and red in the west,
The sun bestirs him again.

The thief-bee rifles the hawthorn flower;
And the breezes softly sigh
For the columbine in my lady's bower,
And then aTher feet they die.

And all the pomp of the June is here—
The mirth and passion and song;
And young is the summer, and life is dear,
And the day is never too long.

Ah! birds come back to their last year's nest,
And the wild-rose laughs in the lane;
But I turn to the east and I turn to the west—
“She never will come again.”
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