Laurence Binyon,
Primavera: Poems by Four Authors
“ Wreathed with vine-leaves, shouting, trampling onwards, With toss'd timbrel and loud tambourine. Alas! the disenchanting years have roll'd On hearts and minds becoming cold: Mirth is gone from us; and the world is old. O bright new-comer, fill'd with thoughts of joy, Joy to be thine amid these pleasant plains, Know'st thou not, child, what surely coming pains Await thee, for that eager heart's annoy? Misunderstanding, disappointment, tears, Wrong'd love, spoil'd hope, mistrust and ageing fears, Eternal longing for one perfect friend, And unavailing wishes without end? ”
