Birds are singing on bush and tree,
Singing a thousand loves and joys;
Once, it was music sweet to me,
Now, it seemeth only noise.
Ah! life’s music fled with him!
Roses are blooming—once they were
Fairest of wonders that Nature weaves;
Now their perfume makes faint the air,
And, to me, they are just—red leaves.
Ah! life’s beauty faded with him!
Daylight dies, and the stars arise,
Not as of old with hope-giving light;
Then, they looked loving, like human eyes,
Now, they are pitiless, cold, and bright.
Ah! the brightest star has set!