It was a night of early spring, The winter-sleep was scarcely broken; Around us shadows and the wind Listened for what was never spoken.

Though half a score of years are gone, Spring comes as sharply now as then— But if we had it all to do It would be done the same again.

It was a spring that never came; But we have lived enough to know That what we never have, remains; It is the things we have that go.