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letra de spring - margaret rawlings

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márgarét, áre you gríeving
over goldengrove unleaving?
leáves like the things of man, you
with your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
ah! ás the heart grows older
it will come to such sights colder
by and by, nor spare a sigh
though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
and yet you wíll weep and know why
now no matter, child, the name:
sórrow’s spríngs áre the same
nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
what heart heard of, ghost guessed:
it ís the blight man was born for
it is margaret you mourn for

- margaret rawlings

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