Have all the songs been said?
Are all the singers dead?
Is all the music fled? —
The sum and aim of life
One dreary struggle, rife
With greed and sordid strife? —
Man but a dull machine,
Living a vast routine
Of narrow purpose mean?
Oh! while one leaf swings high
Against an azure sky
In springtime's ecstasy,
There breathes yet the sublime,
There beats yet living rhyme,
'Tis still the young world's prime.
Nature has high commands,
Bears gifts with lavish hands
To him who understands!