A Little Song

The sunset in the rosy west
Burned soft and high ;
A shore-lark fell like a stone to his nest
In the waving rye.

A wind came over the garden beds
From the dreamy lawn,
The pansies nodded their purple heads,
The poppies began to yawn.

One pansy said, ' It is only sleep,
Only his gentle breath ; '
But a rose lay strewn in a snowy heap,
For the rose it was only death.

Heigho ! we've only one life to live,
And only one death to die :
Good-morrow, new world! have you nothing to give?
Good-bye, old world — good-bye !