Gone--all gone!
Gone--all gone!
By the bubbling fount ’mid the greenwood shades,In the leafy world of the forest glades,No more the birds, at the blush of morn,Trill their sweet notes; they are gone—all gone!Voices of summer, I’ve listed longFor the witching strains of your matin song;Through the woodland dim, o’er the rustling lawn,I have sought you oft; but you’re gone—all gone?No more do you start in your still retreatAt the thundering tramp of the horses’ feet,Or the wandering note of the bugle horn;But the woods are mute, for you’re gone—all gone!’Mid the wild wood’s haunts, through your lonely nests,The rude winds play, and the snow-wreath restsIn their yielding curve, while in jeering scornThe cold blast whistles, "Gone—all gone!"They say that ye sing ’neath a sunnier archOf the azure skies, where the seasons’ marchBrings but one endless vernal dawn;But my heart is sad, for you’re gone—all gone!
By the bubbling fount ’mid the greenwood shades,In the leafy world of the forest glades,No more the birds, at the blush of morn,Trill their sweet notes; they are gone—all gone!
By the bubbling fount ’mid the greenwood shades,
In the leafy world of the forest glades,
No more the birds, at the blush of morn,
Trill their sweet notes; they are gone—all gone!
Voices of summer, I’ve listed longFor the witching strains of your matin song;Through the woodland dim, o’er the rustling lawn,I have sought you oft; but you’re gone—all gone?
Voices of summer, I’ve listed long
For the witching strains of your matin song;
Through the woodland dim, o’er the rustling lawn,
I have sought you oft; but you’re gone—all gone?
No more do you start in your still retreatAt the thundering tramp of the horses’ feet,Or the wandering note of the bugle horn;But the woods are mute, for you’re gone—all gone!
No more do you start in your still retreat
At the thundering tramp of the horses’ feet,
Or the wandering note of the bugle horn;
But the woods are mute, for you’re gone—all gone!
’Mid the wild wood’s haunts, through your lonely nests,The rude winds play, and the snow-wreath restsIn their yielding curve, while in jeering scornThe cold blast whistles, "Gone—all gone!"
’Mid the wild wood’s haunts, through your lonely nests,
The rude winds play, and the snow-wreath rests
In their yielding curve, while in jeering scorn
The cold blast whistles, "Gone—all gone!"
They say that ye sing ’neath a sunnier archOf the azure skies, where the seasons’ marchBrings but one endless vernal dawn;But my heart is sad, for you’re gone—all gone!
They say that ye sing ’neath a sunnier arch
Of the azure skies, where the seasons’ march
Brings but one endless vernal dawn;
But my heart is sad, for you’re gone—all gone!