Oh, the day has set me dreaming
In a strange, half solemn way
Of the feelings I experienced
On another long past day,–
Of the way my heart made music
When the buds began to blow,
And o’ little Lucy Landman
Whom I loved long years ago.
It ‘s in spring, the poet tells us,
That we turn to thoughts of love,
And our hearts go out a-wooing
With the lapwing and the dove.
But whene’er the soul goes seeking
Its twin-soul, upon the wing,
I ‘ve a notion, backed by mem’ry,
That it’s love that makes the spring.
I have heard a robin singing
When the boughs were brown and bare,
And the chilling hand of winter
Scattered jewels through the air.
And in spite of dates and seasons,
It was always spring, I know,
When I loved Lucy Landman
In the days of long ago.
Ah, my little Lucy Landman,
I remember you as well
As if ‘t were only yesterday
I strove your thoughts to tell,–
When I tilted back your bonnet,
Looked into your eyes so true,
Just to see if you were loving
Me as I was loving you.
Ah, my little Lucy Landman
It is true it was denied
You should see a fuller summer
And an autumn by my side.
But the glance of love’s sweet sunlight
Which your eyes that morning gave
Has kept spring within my bosom,
Though you lie within the grave.
