I would not die in Spring time
When all is bright around,
And fair young flowers are peeping
From out the silent ground,
When life is on the water
And joy upon the shore;
For winter gloomy winter
Then reigns o'er us no more.

I would not die in Summer
When music's on the breeze,
And soft, delicious murmurs
Float ever through the trees,
And fairy birds and singing
From morn till close of day
No: with its transient glories
I would not pass away.

When breezes leave the mountain,
Its balmy sweet all o'er
To breath around the fountain
And fan our bowers no more.
With Summer flowers are dying
Within the lonely glen,
And Autumn winds are sighing
I would not perish then.

But let me die in Winter
When night hangs dark above,
And cold the snow is lying
On bosoms that we love
Ah!  may the wind at midnight,
That bloweth from the sea,
Chant mildly, softly, sweetly
A requiem for me.