A Song for Candlemas
There's never a rose upon the bush,
And never a bud on any tree;
In wood and field nor hint nor sign
Of one green thing for you or me.
Come in, come in, sweet love of mine,
And let the bitter weather be!
Coated with ice the garden wall;
The river reeds are stark and still;
The wind goes plunging to the sea,
And last week's flakes the hollows fill.
Come in, come in, sweet love, to me,
And let the year blow as it will!
Submitted by Nich Roehler
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Text added to the website: 2012-05-20 00:00:00.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:04:55
Line count: 12
Word count: 87
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