Little Gray Songs from St. Joseph's - Part 38

This morn I cried: “Now I will live,
For Spring comes striding through the land,
With branch and blossom in her hand,
And all dear gifts that she doth give.”

This morn I cried: “Now I will live!”
Alas, the frail bright blossoms fall,
And though the Spring have gifts for all,
My gift of life she doth not give.
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