I walk about the path set by
the patch of jonquil spring in bloom,
Nice, now, there is not one save I,
For the springtime flowers, ‘tis just more room.
Down through the low and over high,
the trees wave at their passerby
and I, in happily settled tones,
assure them it is a friend that roams.
And as I come to journey’s end,
I find that in the forest shade
their peace, oh trees of sunshine tend
however old, ne’er begin to fade.
For in the summer meadow’s blooms,
one shall find no dusty tombs.
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 10:56 AM UTC
I walk about the path set by
the patch of jonquil spring in bloom,
Nice, now, there is not one save I,
For the springtime flowers, ‘tis just more room.
Down through the low and over high,
the trees wave at their passerby
and I, in happily settled tones,
assure them it is a friend that roams.
And as I come to journey’s end,
I find that in the forest shade
their peace, oh trees of sunshine tend
however old, ne’er begin to fade.
For in the summer meadow’s blooms,
one shall find no dusty tombs.