Classic Poem

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

O when life turns sad and lonely,
When our joys are dead;
When are heard the ravens only
In the trees o'erhead;
When the stormwind on the bowers
Wreaks its wicked will,
When the frost paints lying flowers,
How should I be still?

When the clouds are low descending,
And the sun is drowned;
When the winter knows no ending,
And the cold is crowned;
When with evil gloom oppressed
Lie the ruins bare;
When a sigh escapes the breast,
Takes us unaware;

When the snow-wrapped mountain dreams
Of its summer gladness,
When the wood is stripped and seems
Full of care and sadness;
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.