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I would not die in Springtime
When all is bright around, And fair young flowers are peeping From out the silent ground, When life is on the water And joy upon the shore; For winter, gloomy winter Then reigns o'er us no more.
I would not die in Summer
When music's on the breeze, And soft, delicious murmurs Float ever through the trees, And fairy birds are singing From morn till close of day No: with its transient glories I would not pass away.
When breezes leave the mountain,
Its balmy sweets all o'er To breathe around the fountain And fan our bowers no more. When Summer flowers are dying Within the lonely glen, And Autumn winds are sighing I would not perish then.
But let me die in Winter
When night hangs dark above, And cold the snow is lying On bosoms that we love Ah! may the wind at midnight, That bloweth from the sea, Chant mildly, softly, sweetly A requiem for me. |