第63章 POEM: SPRING IN WAR-TIME

Now the sprinkled blackthorn snow Lies along the lovers' lane Where last year we used to go -

Where we shall not go again.

In the hedge the buds are new, By our wood the violets peer -

Just like last year's violets, too, But they have no scent this year.

Every bird has heart to sing Of its nest, warmed by its breast;

We had heart to sing last spring, But we never built our nest.

Presently red roses blown Will make all the garden gay . . .

Not yet have the daisies grown On your clay.

1916.