And a sunset that splashes the clouds with gold
But my heart to summer turning.
Come back, sweet summer ! come back again !
I hate the snow,
And the icy winds that the north lands blow,
And the fall of the frozen rain.
I hate the iron ground,
And the Christmas roses,
And the sickly day that dies when it closes,
With never a song or a sound.
Come back ! come back ! with your passionate heat
And glowing hazes,
And your sun that shines as a lover gazes,
And your day with the tired feet.
The white-winged ships drift with the falling tide,Come back, my love, with pity in your eyes!The tall white ships drift with the falling tide.(Far, far away I hear the seamews’ cries.)Come back, my love, with pity in your eyes !There is no room now in my heart for pride.Come back, come back ! with pity…
Voici venir le tempsNow is the hour when, swinging in the breeze,Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet.The air is full of scents and melodies,O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing feet!Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet,The violins are like sad souls that cry,O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing…
White he was as the curded cream,Hair like the buttercups he had,And wet green eyes like a full chalk stream.iiHis teeth were as white as the stones that lieDown in the depths of the sun-bright river,And his lashes danced like a dragon-flyWith drops on the gauzy wings that quiver.iiiHis lips were as red as round…
Thine is the shrine more pilgrim-worn than allThe shrines of singers; high above the restThy trumpet sounds most loud, most manifest.Yet better were it if a lonely callOf woodland birds, a song, a madrigal,Were all the jetsam of thy sea’s unrest.For now thy praises have become too loudOn vulgar lips, and every yelping curYaps thee…
Fore-doomed to splendour and sorrow,For I was a king when they cut the corn,And they strangle me to-morrow.iiOh ! why was I made so red and white,So fair and straight and tall ?And why were my eyes so blue and bright,And my hands so white and small ?iiiAnd why was my hair like the yellow…
And pitiful trees have told me, God, of Thee :And I heard not. Oh ! open Thou mine ears.The reeds have whispered low as I passed by,‘ Be strong, O friend, be strong, put off vain fears,Vex not they soul with doubts, God cannot lie ‘ :And I heard not. Oh ! open Thou mine…
