But, oh, ye spring-flowers ! oh, ye early friends!
Where are ye, one and all?
The sun still shines, and summer rain descends,
They call forth flowers, but ’tis not ye they call.
On the mountains,
By the fountains,
In the woodland, dim and grey,
Flowers are springing, ever springing,
But the spring-flowers, where are they?
Then, oh, ye spring-flowers! oh, ye early friends!
Where are ye? I would know
When the sun shines, when summer rain descends,
Why still blow flowers, but ’tis not ye that blow.
On the mountains,
By the fountains,
In the woodlands, dim and grey,
Flowers are springing, ever springing,
But the spring-flowers, where are they?
Oh then, ye spring-flowers! oh, ye early friends!
Are ye together gone
Up with the soul of nature that ascends,
Up with the clouds and odours, one by one?
O’er the mountains,
O’er the fountains,
O’er the woodlands, dim and grey,
Flowers are springing, ever springing,
On heaven’s highlands far away!
Hotter and hotter glows the summer sun,
But you it cannot wake,
Myriads of flowers, like armies marching on,
Blaze on the hills, and glitter in the brake.
On the mountains,
Round the fountains,
In the woodlands, dim and grey,
Flowers are springing, ever springing,
But the spring-flowers, where are they?
Oh! no more! oh, never, never more!
Shall friend, or flower, return,
Till deadly Winter, old, and cold, and frore,
Has laid all nature lifeless in his urn.
O’er the mountains,
And the fountains,
Through the woodland, dim and grey,
Death and winter, dread companions,
Have pursued their destined way.
Then oh, ye spring-flowers ! oh, ye early friends!
Dead, buried, one and all;
When the sun shines, and summer rain descends,
And call forth flowers, ’tis ye that they shall call
On the mountains,
By the fountains,
In the woodlands, dim and grey,
Flowers are springing, souls are singing,
On heaven’s hills, and ye are they!
Rose! Rose! open thy leaves!
Spring is whispering love to thee;
Rose! Rose! open thy leaves!
Near is the nightingale on the tree.
Open thy leaves,
Open thy leaves,
And fill with balm-breath the sunlit eaves.
Lily ! Lily! awake, awake!
The fairy watcheth her flowery boat;
Lily! Lily! awake, awake!
Oh! set thy scent-laden bark afloat.
Lily, awake!
Lily, awake!
And cover with leaves the sleeping lake.
Flowers! Flowers! come forth, ’tis spring!
Stars of the woods, the hills, and the dells!
Fair valley lilies, come forth and ring,
In your green turrets, your silvery bells
Flowers, come forth,
'Tis spring! ’tis spring!
And beauty in field and woodland dwells.
And is the swallow gone?
Who beheld it?
Which way sailed it?
Farewell bade it none?
No mortal saw it go:—
But who doth hear
Its summer cheer
As it flitteth to and fro?
So the freed spirit flies!
From its surrounding clay
It steals away
Like the swallow from the skies.
Whither? Wherefore doth it go?
’Tis all unknown ;
We feel alone
That a void 1s left below.
Away with the pleasure that is not partaken!
There is no enjoyment by one only ta’en:
I love in my mirth to see gladness awaken
On lips, and in eyes, that reflect it again.
When we sit by the fire that so cheerily blazes
On our cozy hearthstone, with its innocent glee,
Oh’! my soul warms, while my eye fondly gazes,
To see my delight is partaken by thee!
And when, as how often, I eagerly listen
To stories thou read’st of the dear olden day,
How delightful to see our eyes mutually glisten,
And feel that affection has sweetened the lay.
Yes, love,—and when wandering at even or morning,
Through forest or wild, or by waves foaming white
I have fancied new beauties the landscape adorning
Because I have seen thou wast glad in the sight.
And how often in crowds, where a whisper offendeth;
And we fain would express what there might not be said,
How dear is the glance that none else comprehendeth;
And how sweet is the thought that is secretly read.
Then away with the pleasure that is not partaken!
There is no enjoyment by one only ta’en:
I love in my mirth to see gladness awaken
On lips, and in eyes, that reflect it again.