Songs , opus 45

I caught the changes of the year
In soft and fragile nets of song
For you to whom my days belong
For you to whom each day is dear
Of all the high processional throngs
I caught the changes of the year
In soft and fragile nets of song

And here some sound of beauty, here
Some note of ancient, ageless wrong
Reshaping as my lips were strong,
I caught the changes of the year
In soft and fragile nets of song.
For you to whom my days belong.