Because you are a princess, a princess of the land,
You will not turn your lightsome eyes a moment where I stand,
A poor unnoticed poet, a-making of his rhymes;
But I have found a mistress, more fair a thousand times.
`Tis May, the elfish maiden, the daughter of the Spring,
Upon whose birthday morning the birds delight to sing.
They would not sing one note for you, if you should so command,
Although you are a princess, a princess of the land.
SONG IS NOT DEAD
Song is not dead, although to-day
Men tell us everything is said.
There yet is something left to say,
Song is not dead.
While still the evening sky is red,
While still the morning gold and grey,
While still the autumn leaves are shed,
While still the heart of youth is gay,
And honour crowns the hoary head,
While men and women love and pray
Song is not dead.
A SONG OF TRUCE
Till the tread of marching feet
Through the quiet grass-grown street
Of the little town shall come,
Soldier, rest awhile at home.
While the banners idly hang,
While the bugles do not clang,
While is hushed the clamorous drum,
Soldier, rest awhile at home.
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