O DOVE, whom do you woo
With your soft and gentle coo
In the freshness of the morning ’mid the sunlight and the dew?
When the first Spring flow’rs are fair
And your voice floats everywhere
On the bosom of the palpitating air?
O dove, how glad the note
That echoes from your throat
When the lazy clouds like castles of the sunny islands float
In the azure Summer sky,
Ah, let your joy run high,
For the dreary Winter’s coming by and by.
O dove, how sad the tone
As you sit and grieve alone
In the gathering of the twilight, in your sad, sweet monotone,
With the Autumn hillsides gray
Stretching far--so far away,
But the joys of Spring and Summer gone for aye.