While The Billy BoilsSearchYou are dying! I hear them say —Alack! and alas! that the young should die!But my heart beats back to a yesterday,Where the swallows wheeled in a lilac sky,And a song floats up from the far away,The heart’s own music that lives for aye.
There’s a road that leads to the heart of the Spring,A winding pathway with many a turn,And ever the bells of the fairies ring,And ever the poppy-hearts blaze and burn;Time sits a-dream where the roses clingBy the road that leads to the heart of the Spring.
There’s a road that leads to the peace o’ the grave,A strait, strait road where the nightshade clings,And the heart that withheld, or the hand that gaveShall soon be accounted as little things.You are dying! God! how the grayChokes the red gold of the yesterday.
There’s a road that windeth from East to West,From North to South, as the earth roads goIt is fevered with fires of the heart’s unrest,It is sodden with tears you may never know.They say you are dying! Nay, whisper low!You died with the roses — a year ago!