The willow boughs are yellow now,
For spring has come again;
The peach-tree buds begin to swell,
Dripping with April rain.
The gray-eyed twilight lingers long,
To meet the starry night;
I walk the darkening lanes alone,
And love the sombre light.
The dream of other days returns,
When comes the blossomed spring;
But when the full leaved summer comes
My dream has taken wing;
The twittering swallows in the lane
Were there a year ago;
The old nests in the tangled vines
Their next year's brood will know.
A little brood of children fair,
Under the mother's wing,
Is in the dream of other days,
That flies when flies the spring!