The Spring, My Dear
William Ernest Henley
The spring, my dear, Is no longer spring. Does the blackbird sing What he sang last year? Are the skies the old Immemorial blue? Or am I, or are you, Grown cold? Though life be change, It is hard to bear When the old sweet air Sounds forced and strange. To be out of tune, Plain You and I . . . It were better to die, And soon!
Next 10 Poems
- William Ernest Henley : The Surges Gushed And Sounded
- William Ernest Henley : The Wan Sun Westers, Faint And Slow
- William Ernest Henley : The Ways Are Green With The Gladdening Sheen
- William Ernest Henley : The West A Glimmering Lake Of Light
- William Ernest Henley : There Is A Wheel Inside My Head
- William Ernest Henley : There's A Regret
- William Ernest Henley : To A. C.
- William Ernest Henley : To A. D.
- William Ernest Henley : To A. J. H.
- William Ernest Henley : To D. H.
Previous 10 Poems
- William Ernest Henley : The Song Of The Sword
- William Ernest Henley : The Skies Are Strown With Stars
- William Ernest Henley : The Shadow Of Dawn
- William Ernest Henley : The Sea Is Full Of Wandering Foam
- William Ernest Henley : The Sands Are Alive With Sunshine
- William Ernest Henley : The Rain And The Wind
- William Ernest Henley : The Past Was Goodly Once, And Yet, When All Is Said
- William Ernest Henley : The Full Sea Rolls And Thunders
- William Ernest Henley : The Chief
- William Ernest Henley : Suicide
