Softly at dawn a whisper stole
Down from the Green House on the Hill,
Enchanting many a ghostly bole
And wood-song with the ancient thrill.
...
Pierrette has gone, but it was not
Exactly that she died,
So much as vanished and forgot
To tell where she would hide.
...
I, who fade with the lilacs
And with the roses fade,
Am sharing this hour with them
...
Spring Song
Softly at dawn a whisper stole
Down from the Green House on the Hill,
Enchanting many a ghostly bole
And wood-song with the ancient thrill.
Gossiping on the country-side,
Spring and the wandering breezes say,
God has thrown Heaven open wide
And let the thrushes out to-day.