OH the blithe spring weaves a maze of flowers till come the glad Midsummer hours When the sun is shining, shining, Dawn and Sunset in the skies; Yet tho' song and youth are everywhere, upon the joyous lightsome air, A cold voice sighs. "There shall come a fated end of all, ere Autumn's leaves have ceased to fall, And thro' all the sleeping woods there sounds no trill of waking bird, And a great hush steals away the joys of youth and all its merry noise, And song-tide dies." Silent yet tolling, tolling deep, like wizard voices heard in sleep, The strange sound eddies ceaseless, like a whirlpool round the soul, There is silence all-pervading; voiceless echoes sinking, fading While the still deeps roll. And anon a ghostly pealing, on the slumbering senses stealing, Life's high, soaring accents hushing, to an undertone of pain; Soar, oh Love-strains, high and higher, like a fountain, like a fire, Youth is not in vain. Drown the dismal, deathlike measure, in loud canticles of pleasure, Joy of youth, and joy of living, let your blithest songs be sung, For though Age with Death conspire, to-day the sun mounts high and higher, And the world is young. |