Classic Poem

When early flowers were all ablow
In April of the long-ago,
A woke the life that gave me mine.
O mother! hurt with time and care
And burdens thou hast bent to bear,
In spite of all that has gone by
How quick is still the ear, the eye;
How light is still that heart of thine!

The spring so lingers in it yet,
That I life's season half forget
In happy shining of the sun.
May long, glad days arise on thee,
Else long and sad the days for me:
Yet when thy years again are told,
We shall be together as of old,
Where years and seasons are as one.