When the songs are growing still
As in Death's repose,
And the heart is growing chill,
And the eyelids close;

Then, O then I can but sing
For I dream her coming--
May, sweet May! I see her bring
Buds and wild-bee humming!
Through the silence heart-appalling,
As I stand and listen,
I can hear her song-birds calling,
See her green leaves glisten!

Thus again my songs I sing thee,
Now the spell is broken;
Brothers, yet again I bring thee
Of my love the token.
Of my joy and of my sorrow
Gladly, sadly bringing,--
Summer not a song would borrow!--
Winter sets me singing.




Liberty


When night and silence deep