Classic Poem

Ah, ye that loved my laughter once,
Open to me! 'Tis I
That shed you songs like summer leaves
Whene'er a wind came by.
The leaves are spent and the year is old,
And the fields are gray that once were gold.
Heart of the brook, my heart is cold—
My song is like to die.

The windows look another way,
The walls are deaf and stark.
Who heeds a glow-worm in the day,
Or lifts a frozen lark?
Warm yourself with the days that were;
Follow the Summer, beg of her,
But never sadden us, Jongleur,
Jongleur, go down the dark!