Lament

When you hear the white-throat pealing

From a tree-top far away,

And the hills are touched with purple

At the borders of the day;

When the redwing sounds his whistle

At the coming on of spring,

And the joyous April pipers

Make the alder marshes ring;

When the wild new breath of being

Whispers to the world once more,

And before the shrine of beauty

Every spirit must adore;

When long thoughts come back with twilight,

And a tender deepened mood

Shows the eyes of the beloved

Like the hepaticas in the wood;

Ah, remember, when to nothing

Save to love your heart gives heed,

And spring takes you to her bosom,—

So it was with Golden Weed!