A Spring Song And A Later

She sang a song of May for me, Wherein once more I heard The mirth of my glad infancy— The orchard's earliest bird— The joyous breeze among the trees New-clad in leaf and bloom, And there the happy honey-bees In dewy gleam and gloom. So purely, sweetly on the sense Of heart and spirit fell Her song of Spring, its influence— Still irresistible,— Commands me here—with eyes ablur— To mate her bright refrain. Though I but shed a rhyme for her As dim as Autumn rain.