AS one who loves may seek to find Some name by all the rest unfound, For her who dwells within his mind To comfort and to bless, As though the secret of the sound No other might possess; So we in alien words enwind, In foreign phrase caress, The hope wherein all joys abound. Is it Winter? Nevertheless @3'Le printemps vient toujours, toujours, Le printemps vient toujours.'@1 If Fortune's wheel, in moving round, Give us our turn to be abased, And low we lie, are straitened, bound, While storms our treasures rust, Great Love, Who checks our careless haste, May, more than Justice just, Dull Fortune's eyes, Himself, astound, That turn her wheel she must: We rise above the wintry waste, With a song that spurns the ground, @3'Le printemps vient toujours, toujours, Le printemps vient toujours.'@1 If some from hope to hope are chased, Nor covet any worldly wage, By Duty's sternest mandate placed Where selfish hope must die, Still smiting with a noble rage The passions they deny, With courage and endurance graced Though all they longed for fly, They triumph still from youth to age, Till Death as Love is faced: Then, free at last, for joy they sigh, @3'Le printemps vient toujours, toujours, Le printemps vient toujours.'@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALEXANDER CRUMMELL - DEAD by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE DAFT DAYS by ROBERT FERGUSSON UPON THE CIRCUMCISION by JOHN MILTON TRUST by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE THE PITY OF THE LEAVES by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |