large/11131/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_32_stein_64kb_3
large/11131/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_32_stein_64kb
English
11131
What if the dead leaves strew the ways, And southward all the songs take wing? Despite all cheerless frosts that be, My eager heart awaits the spring, So knowing she will surely bring The birds and May to me. WHAT IF THE DEAD LEAVES DREW THE WAYS AND SOUTHWARD ALL THE SONGS TAKE WING DESPITE ALL CHEERLESS FROSTS THAT BE MY EAGER HEART AWAITS THE SPRING SO KNOWING SHE WILL SURELY BRING THE BIRDS IN MAY TO ME
 to belate The days, that never crept so slow; And yet, I used to love the summer so! But now my heart may only fret And pray for it to go. And yearning so, with lashes wet, I half forget The greenery on every bough, How red the poppies are, and how Amid the tufted mignonette The scented south-winds gently blow; I heed them not,—I only know Time never seemed so long as now! I search the azure skies in vain, No hint of autumn rain! No hint of fall from bluebirds, nor Green fields of growing grain. Then idly reckoning, as before, I strive anew to make less far That glad date on the calendar; To number less the days that are, The changes fixed for sun and star, The moons that yet must wax and wane; Thus evermore With fresh impatience, o’er and o’er, I count the hours;—yet still am fain To tell them over once again. O hasten, hasten, autumn days! Sear swift this dewy, summer green! I am grown weary with delays; Speed! Speed! Bring bitter winds and chill, nor heed The mellow sweets between! ME SO WEARILY I WAIT THE HOURS SEEM LEAGUING TO BELATE THE DAYS THAT NEVER CREPT SO SLOW AND YET I USED TO LOVE THE SUMMER SO BUT NOW MY HEART MAY ONLY FRET AND PRAY FOR IT TO GO AND YEARNING SO WITH LASHES WET I HALF FORGET THE GREENERY ON EVERY BOUGH HOW RED THE POPPIES ARE AND HOW AMID THE TUFTED MIGNONETTE THE SCENTED SOUTH WINDS GENTLY BLOW I HEED THEM NOT ILY KNOW TIME NEVER SEEM'D SO LONG AS NOW I SEARCH THE AZURE SKIES IN VAIN NO HINT OF AUTUMN RAIN NO HINT OF FALL FROM BLUE BIRDS NOR GREEN FIELDS OF GROWING GREEN THEN IDLY RECKONING AS BEFORE I STRIVE ANEW TO MAKE LESS FAR THAT GLAD DATE ON THE CALENDAR TO NUMBER LESS THE DAYS THAT ARE THE CHANGES FIXED FOR SUN AND STAR THE MOONS YET MUST WAX AND WANE THUS EVERMORE WITH FRESH IMPATIENCE O'ER AND O'ER I COUNT THE HOURS YET STILL IN VAIN TO TELL THEM OVER ONCE AGAIN O HASTEN HASTEN AUTUMN DAYS SEAR SWIFT THIS DEWY SUMMER GREEN I AM GROWN WEARY WITH DELAYS SPEED SPEED BRING BITTER WINDS IN CHILL NOR HEED THE MELLOW SWEETS BETWEEN
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