This is the spring, 
The time to fling 
Sad hearts sky-high! 
To sail old hopes 
Like kites in the sky, 
And take old dreams 
From hidden places, 
And find old loves 
In the new faces.

This is the spring 
The time to sing, 
The time to wing -- 
Old flowers come out 
With the old blue eyes, 
Yet filled anew 
With the old surprise, 
And not a thing 
In the old world dies.

This is the spring,
The time to bring
Love to the folk
That make the flowers. 
The lovely faces 
In hidden places. 
Fast asleep 
Through the April showers. 

Blue were their eyes,
Blue are the flowers, 
Green as the light ascending blade, 
Was the hope in the hearts 
That laughed and said ; 
"Are you afraid?"
Forget them not, 
This shining day, 
The apple-blossom 
Is in the sky, --
But, do you forget 
That you will die. 
That even you 
Will some day lie 
As low as any flower of May. 

If only when you come to die,
From your still heart
A song shall rise, 
Or from the eyelids 
Of your eyes 
The moon shall steal out 
In the sky, 
An unforgetful fragrant flower, 
Or from your grave 
A butterfly 
Flit for an hour.