Yes, Spring is come, but joy alas is gone,— Gone ere we knew it, while our foolish eyes, Which should have watched its motions every one Were looking elsewhere, at the hills, the skies, Chasing vain thoughts, as children butterflies, Until the hour struck and the day was done, And we looked up in passionate surprise To find that clouds had blotted out our sun. Our joys are gone. And what is left to us, Who loved not even love when it was here? What but a voice which sobs monotonous As these sad waves upon the rocks, the dear Fond voice which once made music with our own, And which our hearts now ache to think upon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KNIGHTS: THE POET AND HIS RIVALS by ARISTOPHANES SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 6 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON DAY AND NIGHT by RUPERT BROOKE THE PAINTED CUP by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE RAIN ON THE ROOF by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |