Classic Poem

Pretty one, sad one, lift up your eyes and greet me;
The April wind is in the land and appleblossoms drift.
Come from out your shadowed place—take a step to meet me.
I am new Love, true Love—who comes with many a gift.

With fresh, red roses bespangled with the dew
For the withered ones your sweet hands cherish,
With a handful of happy dreams to all come true
In place of the wistful ones that perish.

Pretty one, sad one, lift up your eyes nor doubt me;
I am new Love, true Love who at your threshold stands,
The West wind comes in with me, the sun is all about me,
And the first gift of many gifts is eager for your hands.

A long love letter, clean and crisp and new,
Every word as fragrant as a blossom,
In place of that old one almost wept in two
That lies like a sorrow in your bosom.