Poetry Archives

The willow boughs are yellow now,
  For spring has come again;
The peach-tree buds begin to swell,
  Dripping with April rain.

The gray-eyed twilight lingers long,
  To meet the starry night;
I walk the darkening lanes alone,
  And love the sombre light.

The dream of other days returns,
  When comes the blossomed spring;
But when the full leaved summer comes
  My dream has taken wing;

The twittering swallows in the lane
  Were there a year ago;
The old nests in the tangled vines
  Their next year’s brood will know.

A little brood of children fair,
  Under the mother’s wing,
Is in the dream of other days,
  That flies when flies the spring!