II

Avril

WHEN the springtime is sweet

W

And the birds repeat

Their new song in the leaves,

’Tis meet

A man go where he will.

But from where my heart is set

No message I get;

My heart all wakes and grieves;

Defeat

Or luck, I must have my fill.

Our love comes out

Like the branch that turns about

On the top of the hawthorne,

With frost and hail at night

Suffers despite

’Till the sun come, and the green leaf on the bough.

I remember the young day

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