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Poem	And again the flowers are come, And the light shakes, And no tiny voice is dumb, And a bud breaks On the humble bush and the proud restless tree. Come with me! Look, this little flower is pink, And this one white. Here's a pearl cup for your drink, Here's for your delight A yellow one, sweet with honey. Here's fairy money Silver bright Scattered over the grass As we pass. Here's moss. How the smell of it lingers On my cold fingers! You shall have no moss. Here's a frail Hyacinth, deathyly pale. Not for you, not for you! And the place where they grew You must promise me not to discover, My sorrowful lover! Shall we never be happy again? Never again play? In vain--in vain! Come away!
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