I said, last winter, When the grasses grow,
And there are flowers abloom in every place,
And soft south winds have melted all the snow,
Then I shall meet my darling face to face;
And I shall clasp, and hold her hand in mine,
And I shall see her blue eyes glow and shine.
And now the grass is green on moor and lea;
The snow has vanished, and the spring is here,
The robins shout from every forest tree,
The meadow larks are singing loud and clear,
And there are flowers abloom in every place—
And yet I do not see my darling's face.
All soft and mild, the gentle south wind blew,
The snow clouds vanished, and the sunshine fell
Upon the meadow, and the daisies grew,
And violets and pansies graced the dell.
The bees are busy, while they softly hum,
And yet—and yet—my darling does not come.
Alas! for never will she come again,
She sleepeth, sleepeth, still and silent now;
Her couch is hollowed from the grassy plain,
And daisies bloom and blow above her brow;
And I can never hold her hand in mine,
And I can never see her blue eyes shine.
1869