Written in ill health at the close of spring

[ZaunköniG]

Written in ill health at the close of spring

Where are the tearful smile of youthful Spring,
That nurs’d the budding leaves and infant flow’rs?
Ah! vanish’d – like those dear regretted hours –
That fled away on Pleasure’s fairy wing,

When hope light scatter’d o’er my glowing way
Her rose-buds of delight. – The cooling breeze,
The wily sportive warblers of the trees,
And garlands sweet that made the woods so gay,

All, all are gone. – Spring will return again, -
But never more for me its charms shall bloom,
For me then slumbering in the dreary tomb

The birds will sing and flow’rets blow in vain; -
While gentle gales, the budding trees that wave,
Will breathe their lonely sighs across my grave.