But time and love fought out their ancient quarrel;
The songs are fainter now; the lights are dimmer.

For it is over, over, and the spring
Is not quite spring to you who sit alone;
A paradise entire has taken wing;
Love and her merry company are gone
The way of all delight and lyric measures,
And the lone miser mourns his vanished treasures.


VI

The snow is thawing on the hanging eaves,
The buds unroll upon the basking limb,
And hidden birds are practising a hymn
To sing when petals fall among the leaves.
And yet in life there is an interim
So dull that stagnant loneliness bereaves
Beauty of tenderness, and hope deceives
Until the eyes grow sceptical and dim.

I know I have no right to solitude
When every friendly grove is loud with calls
From bird to mating bird, and all the wood
Is throbbing with the voice of waterfalls,
But merry song and liquid interlude
Ring in my heart like mirth in empty halls.