The cherry bloom and robin time of year Again is come; and we that shepherd still Among less heavenly pastures feel the fear Of spring again, and all the tears that thrill But never fall. Last night, across the shine Of iris-tinted skies, I heard the dim Enraptured song we knew, the dire divine Music, that once, beyond the violet rim Of pain, could waft us clear to where, our own, Th' unstable faery shores of ecstasy Burn in the twilight of an April sea. Our music came last night to me alone. No more may song nor petalled fluttering Upbreathe frail, frail delight as in the days We clung together here. Instead, they bring The pain of hearts that, glamourous still with spring, Break, and the dread of star-lit, lonely ways Where once, O comrade mine, we heard them sing. |