Sweet almond blossom, blooming ere the Spring
Hath well begun, - ere yet bleak winds and cole
Have shiv'ring fled, your flow'rs we behold!
Glad tidings of blithe days your petals bring
Glad tidings of blithe days when birds shall sing,
And forest trees shall all your leaves unfold,
And Nature don her robe of green and gold
To meetly greet us in our wandering.
Pale tinted petals, what is it ye say?
The Summer comes, but ye shall not remain
To share its glory? What, will ye not stay,
But as some youthful bard that sings his lay,
Then droops and dies by his own sweetness slain;
Will ye your beauty yield, and pass away?