17.03.2008, 11:48
March, 1846
Now Nature in her vernal green is clad,
And windy March puts on the robe of May;
The primerose is abroad, the buds half-way
Open their lips; all things are blithe and glad:
Then wherefore should I droop in semblance sad,
And contradict the promise of the air?
Ah, me! I can but think of those that were,
And now are not - of those dear friends I had,
And have not. Alice, thou art very meek,
And hast the faith that makes affliction good.
It would be wholesome to my perilous mood
If I could see the tear upon thy cheek.
Methinks we could talk out a day - a week,
Of those we loved. Oh, Alice! would we could.
Now Nature in her vernal green is clad,
And windy March puts on the robe of May;
The primerose is abroad, the buds half-way
Open their lips; all things are blithe and glad:
Then wherefore should I droop in semblance sad,
And contradict the promise of the air?
Ah, me! I can but think of those that were,
And now are not - of those dear friends I had,
And have not. Alice, thou art very meek,
And hast the faith that makes affliction good.
It would be wholesome to my perilous mood
If I could see the tear upon thy cheek.
Methinks we could talk out a day - a week,
Of those we loved. Oh, Alice! would we could.