Songs of Shattering, II.

    Let the little birds sing;
        Let the little lambs play; 
    Spring is here; and so 'tis spring;— 
        But not in the old way!

    I recall a place
        Where a plum-tree grew;
    There you lifted up your face,
        And blossoms covered you.

    If the little birds sing,
        And the little lambs play, 
    Spring is here; and so 'tis spring— 
        But not in the old way!