Green ripples singing down the corn, <br />With blossoms dumb the path I tread, <br />And in the music of the morn <br />One with wild roses on her head. <br /> <br />Now the green ripples turn to gold <br />And all the paths are loud with rain, <br />I with desire am growing old <br />And full of winter pain.<br /><br />Francis Ledwidge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-and-autumn/
