by William Ernest Henley (1849 - 1903)

The spring, my dear
Language: English 
The spring, my dear,
Is no longer spring.
Does the blackbird sing
What he sang last year?
Are the skies the old
Immemorial blue?
Or am I, or are you,
Grown cold?

Though life be change,
It is hard to bear
When the old sweet air
Sounds forced and strange.
To be out of tune,
Plain You and I . . .
It were better to die,
And soon!

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2008-12-10
Line count: 16
Word count: 69