Love's Close.

By Edward Shanks

Now spring comes round again

With blossom on the tree,

Dark blossom of the peach,

Light blossom of the pear

And amorous birds complain

And nesting birds prepare

And love's keen fingers reach

After the heart of me.

But now the blackthorn blows

About the dusty lane

And new buds peep and peer,

I have no joy at all,

For love draws near its close

And love's white blossoms fall

And in the springing year

Love's fingers bring me pain.