We are spirits clad in veils; Man by man was never seen; All our deep communing fails To remove the shadowy screen.
Christopher Pearse CranchIf there comes a little thaw, Still the air is chill and raw, Here and there a patch of snow, Dirtier than the ground below, Dribbles down a marshy flood; Ankle-deep you stick in mud In the meadows while you sing, This is Spring.
Christopher Pearse CranchI wonder now if you ever remember... Whether your June is all turned to December... Gone are those winters of chats and of dances... Gone the aroma of life's young romances... Ah! well enough, as you dance on in joyance... Fashion and riches will mask much annoyance.
Christopher Pearse CranchDecember drops no weak, relenting tear, By our fond summer sympathies ensnared; Nor from the perfect circle of the year Can even winter's crystal gems be spared.
Christopher Pearse Cranch