If I could but be happy, As you, dear, are happy! -- Like green fields in May All my heart gay; Like pure April skies Clear light in my eyes; Yes, and shake a small tongue In sweet sallies of song, And dance with my shadow In the sun in the meadow, And lie down to rest, Joy in my breast! But alas and alack, Childhood will not come back. Like snow Time's strange hours Have o'er-topped its small flowers, Have frozen its waters, And silenced its rills And clothed with cold cloud The gold of its hills. Yet this sadness I know Is but fancies of woe, Heavy dreams that would break If I could but awake From the sleep I am in, The dull sleep I am in; If Youth would consent To return to my door -- Call with the wild voice It called me before; I should slip off this heaviness, Scorn anxious fear, And gaze without grief On your beauty, my dear. |