The Green Singer

All singers have shadowsThat follow like fears;But I know a singerWho never saw tears;A gay love! a green love!Delightsome! divine!The Spring is a singer,An old love of mine.

All players have sorrows,And into the playOld sorrows will saunter—Old sorrows will stay.But here is a playerWhose speech is divine!The Spring is a player,And old love of mine.

All singers grow heavy:The hours as they runBite up all the blossoms,Suck up all the sun;But I know a singerDelightsome! divine!The gay love! the green love!An old love of mine.