Once there in my garden fair Sang a bird of plumage rare, From its throat there came to greet My ear sweet music -- strangely sweet. Once a flower of lovely hue In this self same garden grew, Blossomed -- oh, so sweetly there That its breath perfumed the air. Once a flower of lovely hue This same garden murmured through, Over shining stones it played, Softest, richest music made. In this garden 'neath a tree That cast its copious shade for me, Was a restful cool retreat From the noonday's scorching heat. Now no richly plumaged bird Singing in my garden's heard, A milder zone it's sought than this; Ah, its sweet songs how I miss. Now no flower of lovely hue Glittering with morning dew Sheds its perfume in the air -- It has dropped its petals fair. In my garden near the hill Flows the self same brooklet still, But it makes no rippling sound For with ice and snow 'tis bound. And the elm tree that made Such a copious, cooling shade, Void of foliage is it now, Naked each brown spreading bough. Birdie, flower, brooklet, tree, You all now are gone from me; But 'till now I never knew That I loved you as I do. Little thought I, dear sweetheart, On that morn ere we did part When from me you claimed a kiss That your presence I would miss; For ere then I did not know -- Did not dream I loved you so. Could we only know before 'Tis too late what is in store For us; what of storm and rain, What of sadness, grief and pain. We'd enjoy the glad sunlight While it lasts ere comes the night, And our friends so kind and dear We would love and prize and cheer. |