Page:Poems, chiefly lyrical.pdf/81

II.
Fair year, fair year, thy children call,
But thou art deaf as death;
All in the blooméd May.
When thy light perisheth
That from thee issueth,
Our life evanisheth:
Oh! stay.
Alas! that lips so cruel-dumb
Should have so sweet a breath!

III.
Fair year, with brows of royal love
Thou comest, as a king.
All in the blooméd May.
Thy golden largess fling,
And longer hear us sing;
Though thou art fleet of wing,
Yet stay.
Alas! that eyes so full of light
Should be so wandering!