Go, Songs of Mine

Go, songs of mine, to bring her on her way
With whisperings of love;
'T is bleak March now, but then it shall be May,

With gentle skies above
And gentle seas below, what time she hears
Your little music chiming in her ears.

Cold, cold this day, and white the air with snow,
And dark this place wherefrom
My hastening music ever loves to go

To find its natural home, —
Its home with her to whom all charms belong;
Who is both Queen of Love and Queen of Song.

Shall glad spring come? Shall May come with warm hours
And laughter of clear light,
And blossoming trees, and festivals of flowers,

And nightingales by night,
That pour their shuddering sweetness on the air, —
The music of an exquisite despair?

And shall she come, who is my Spring of springs, —
Herself than May more fair?
Sweet is the song the Night's sad songster sings;

But her tones are more rare, —
Ah, shall she come, who is Spring and Summer in one, —
To my sad life its star, its moon, its sun?