The spring, my dear, Is no longer spring. Does the blackbird sing What he sang last year? Are the skies the old Immemorial blue? Or am I, or are you, Grown cold? Though life be change, It is hard to bear When the old sweet air Sounds forced and strange. To be out of tune, Plain You and I . . . It were better to die, And soon! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE ON THE SPRING by THOMAS GRAY THE AKOND [OR, AKHOND] OF SWAT by EDWARD LEAR INSTRUCTIONS, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN IN PARIS, FOR THE MOB IN ENGLAND by MARY (CUMBERLAND) ALCOCK A WEEK IN A BOY'S LIFE by JACQUES BOE SONG, FR. A VISION OF GIOGIONE: GEMMA'S SONG ON THE WATER by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |