"My Love Is Dead"

'Tis Spring, the fresh green glints in the brook.
The primrose laughs from its shady nook,
Winter away like a ghost has fled,—
Let it be Spring, then — my love is dead!

The Summer is come with burning light;
The swallow wheels and dips in his flight;
The Spring away like a ghost has fled, —
Let it be Summer, my love is dead!

Autumn is come, with its gold-tressed trees,
Far through the wood sighs the dirge-like breeze;
Summer away like a ghost has fled, —
Let it be Autumn, my love is dead!

The Winter is come, with white, wan cheek,
The bare boughs toss, and the wild winds shriek;
Autumn away like a ghost has fled, —
Let it be Winter, my love is dead!