Your birthday, dear—a year ago
The world with Maytide joy was glad;
I heard you whisper, as you stood
In the green shadow of the wood,
“Can any heart to-day be sad?”
A year ago I brought you flowers,
Long sprays of hawthorn, pink and white;
But now those flowers are dry and dead,
And you may pass with noiseless tread
O’er fields with fairer blossoms bright.
A year ago I wished you joy,
That all things good the year might bring;
But, ere the time rolled round again,
Came first the Angel Herald Pain,
And then, a summons from the King.
A year ago! A year ago
I clasped your hands and kissed your brow;
Now you have journeyed far away;
Beyond our earthly night and day—
The angels keep your birthday now.