O YE voices round my own hearth singing, As the winds of May to memory sweet, Might I yet return, a worn heart bringing? Would those vernal tones the wanderer greet, Once again? Never, never! Spring hath smiled and parted Oft since then your fond farewell was said; O'er the green turf of the gentle-hearted Summer's hand the rose-leaves may have shed, Oft again! Or if still around my heart ye linger, Yet, sweet voices! there must change have come: Years have quelled the free soul of the singer, Vernal tones shall greet the wanderer home Ne'er again! |