When all my limbs are locked, And death has lost the key; When I am but the dream Of some dead ecstasy: I will not ever wage Old quarrels with myself: Or seek to read the books Upon life's dusty shelf. But I shall always hear The tread of April's feet, Stirring the earth to song: And feel the flaming beat Of earth's heart, near and near, Finding her heart at last: And dreams will come to me And hours forever past. Only the happy hours, Melodiously again, And April dreams will come Leading the April rain: When all my limbs are locked, And death has lost the key, And I myself the dream Of some dead ecstasy. |