  My memories of you are singing birds In the green forest of my mind, where I May roam, recapturing your whispered words, Or on a bank of glowing bluebells lie, Listening for ever. Spring is come again In all her glory; the erst withered trees That creaked, like living skeletons in pain, Defying the wind, have donned green garments: these New shoots, these blossoms and these buds, the springing Grass, and the sky where many colours blend, My songsters by the magic of their singing Have in a moment made. My thoughts of you Are music which to all my spirit's rue Is the ineffable answer and the end. |
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