Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain,Ah, woe is me for glory that is past:Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last,Glory that at the last bringeth no gain!So saith the sinking heart; and so againIt shall say till the mighty angel-blastIs blown, making the sun and moon aghast,And showering down the stars like…
I have no comfits,And I have no honey.Wee wee wifie,I have no money,Milk, nor meat, nor bread to eat,Comfits, nor honey.
To hear the singers at their song,And players at their play.Put on your crown of wind-flowers:But whither would you go?Beyond the surging of the seaAnd the storms that blow.Alas! your crown of wind-flowersCan never make you fly:I twist them in a crown to-day,And to-night they die.
A skylark hang between the two,A singing speck above the corn;A stage below, in gay accord,White butterflies danced on the wing,And still the singing skylark soared,And silent sank and soared to sing.The cornfield stretched a tender greenTo right and left beside my walks;I knew he had a nest unseenSomewhere among the million stalks:And as I…
What a nosegay for the pluckingThere would be!But oh! in windy autumn,When frail flowers wither,What should we do for hope and joy,Fading together?
Oh how funny that will be,Let’s be merry!One for brother, one for sister,Two for mother more,Six for father, hot and tired,Knocking at the door.
Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves,Their own, and others dropped down withering;For violets suit when home birds build and sing,Not when the outbound bird a passage cleaves;Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves,But when the green world buds to blossoming.Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth,Love that should dwell…
Now when the bloom of all my life is gone,The pleasant half of life has quite gone by.My tree of hope is lopped that spread so high,And I forget how summer glowed and shone,While autumn grips me with its fingers wanAnd frets me with its fitful windy sigh.When autumn passes then must winter numb,And winter…
But what is left for mannikin,Born within a hour?I’ll nurse you on my knee, my knee,My own little son;I’ll rock you, rock you, in my arms,My least little one.
‘Kikirikee! kikirikee!’Roses in the east are born.‘Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!’Early birds begin their singing;‘Kikirikee! kikirikee!’The day, the day, the day is springing.
