My heart is a garden tired with autumn.
For I shall learn from flower and leaf, That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief To living gold.
It is strange how often a heart must be broken before the years can make it wise.
Though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad; his kiss was not so wonderful as all the dreams I had.
Life is a frail moth flying Caught in the web of the years that pass.
I could not be so sure of Spring / Save that it sings in me.