Florence Earle Coates

An Adieu

Sorrow, quit me for a while!
    Wintry days are over; 
Hope again, with April smile,
    Violets sows and clover.

Pleasure follows in her path,
    Love itself flies after, 
And the brook a music hath
    Sweet as childhood's laughter.

Not a bird upon the bough
    Can repress its rapture, 
Not a bud that blossoms now
    But doth beauty capture.

Sorrow, thou art Winter's mate,
    Spring cannot regret thee; 
Yet, ah, yet -- my friend of late --
    I shall not forget thee!