Gone! the South winds come again,
Sweeping over bill and plain,
Murmuring through the sombre pines,
Singing o'er the budding vines,
Bringing with them birds that sing
All the glories of the spring;
But they bring not back to me
The boy without whose smile earth's smiles
I never see.
His bed the wood-nymphs strow
With all the flowers that blow,
And the sweet tones of their minim harps
His quiet slumbers lull;
For Nature was his joy,
And he was Nature's toy:
Where sleeps the peerless boy,
She scatters with a lavish hand
The bright, the beautiful.
He reigns, though lost to sight!
Through the long day and night
Is his sweet influence shed
Around the paths I tread:
He is not lost--ah! no--he is not dead.
Not dead! his voice I hear
When South winds murmur near;
I feel, when stars arise,
His soft and loving eyes,
And from the forest flower
His face at evening hour
Smiles on me as of old,
And dreamily my neck his tiny arms enfold.
Not lost to joy, but lost to pain,
Which never shall he feel again;
Earth's acrid fruits he shall not taste,
And wrong it were to chide the haste
With which he left this barren field,
That with its flowers so few, so many thorns doth yield.
I can not mourn my king, for his
Still, still the kingdom is,
And the cares which earth-bred kings annoy,
No more disturb my king--my boy.
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