Page:When the Leaves Come Out (Chaplin 1917).pdf/43

 

I left you, you remember, singing there
 * Beneath the swaying branches and the sky;

The breeze just stirred the sunlight in your hair,
 * And back of you the stream went surging by.

Along the path the violets were wet
 * And all the hillsides drenched with evening dew.

I strode on quickly that I might forget,
 * But all the woods were eloquent of you.

Your fresh young beauty stabbed me like a knife;
 * I seemed to breathe its fragrance everywhere.

I wondered from this mad black whirl of life
 * How anything on earth could be so fair.

The fire-fly now darts his golden light;
 * The river's barred reflections leap and twist;

The frogs tune up their chorus for the night
 * And all the hills are melting into mist.

