Page:Impressions- A Book of Verse.djvu/86

 CHERRY BLOSSOMS

HE blossoms white have covered the tree, The blossoms that crowd when comes the spring, These blossoms white are my songs to thee, All, all my songs, that to thee I sing From the deepest heart of me.

They are many as many my songs to thee As the crowding blossoms that shield your head, From the sunlight now,—soon, soon to be A carpet white for your feet instead, When they fell and forgotten be.

Though 'neath thy feet they die for thee On the cold black earth, with another spring More blossoms white shall cover the tree, And thine, all thine, are the songs I sing, As the singer must ever be.