Classic Poem

O wild bee humming in the gorse,
O wild dove croodling in the woods,
Know ye not she is false as fair,
A sweet Caprice with bitter moods?

For bitter-sweet her wild kiss is,
And bitter-sweet her haunting voice
How oft my eyes have filled with tears
When she hath bid me to rejoice

O loved Caprice, is thine the fault
Or is the bitterness all mine!
Art thou the quenchless Thirst of joy
And I the lees of thy spilt wine?

Oh, greenness, greenness everywhere,
Oh, whisper of green leaves, green grass,
Surely the glory is not gone,
Surely the glory shall not pass?

I long for some lost magic thing,
A voice, a gleam, a joy, a pain
Wild doves, your old-time strain once more,
Wild bees, wild bees, come back again!