Days of old,
Ye are not dead, though gone from me;
Ye are not cold,
But like the summer-birds fled o'er some sea.
The sun brings back the swallows fast
O'er the sea;
When he cometh at the last,
The days of old come back to me.
Spring Song
George Macdonald
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Poem topics: summer, sun, fast, cold, sea, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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