No Song
These summer days when all the poets sing
I have no voice for song.
I see the birds of summer taking wing,
And days so sweet and long,
Each seemed a little heaven with no end,
I know are gone for evermore, dear friend.
Nay, by and by comes another Spring;
And long, sweet, perfect days.
And by and by I shall have voice to sing
My old glad, happy lays.
More blithesome songs, more days that have no end;
More golden summers; but like thee no friend.