There's nothing can be done but wait—
till promise looms—
while April's passions blithely bloom

Brighter the days, though bitterly cold
The view is a carpet of flowery knolls
Studded with poppies and daisies of white
Flowers aglow in the loitering light—

Oh could I tarry, and oh could I stay
Oh could I pair with this blossoming glade
Could I linger and lie under stretches of sky
I would linger and lie for an age