Classic Poem

I.

Fresh flowers of spring,
New birds on wing,
The young year's breezes, soft-plumed and divine;
New faces fair
In glad new air,
The young green tender buds upon the pine;
New white tides jocund race —
But not the little footstep, not the little face!

II.

The gold hair sleeps
Amid the deeps
Of God, amid the arms of angels fair;
No more to me
Its purity
Gleams gold across the dazzled morning air;
Soft footsteps green meads grace,
But not the little footstep, not the little face!

III.

Red roses blow
Now, row on row,
And white dear buds, the likeness of a child;
And pimpernels
Peep forth in dells,
And o'er the seas the April winds float mild;
Such gladden every place,
But not the little footstep, not the little face!

IV.

No more, no more,
By hill or shore
The grey eyes laugh, the child-look upward smiles:
Many are fair
In life's new air,
Some with the sweetest love that woe beguiles,
Lips that can sorrow chase —
But not the little footstep, not the little face!

V.

The lanes are sweet
With young girls' feet;
The roads of late life bloom beneath the tread
Of women-flowers
Who star life's bowers,
Dark-haired, divine, with locks whence sweetness shed
With flowers doth interlace —
Where is the little footstep, where the little face?

VI.

Dark hair is sweet,
And passion's heat;
But ah! the bright glow of the early day
When simple things
On snow-white wings
Gave joys that now for e'er must pass away —
Leaving no trace, no trace,
Where trod the little footstep, laughed the little face.