Warm shall nests be again, Winter’s behind us; Springtime shall find us, Taking our hands, Lead us away from the cold and the snow, Into the green world where primroses grow. Winter, hard winter, forgotten, forgiven; All the old pain paid, to seventy times seven, All the new glory a-glow. Love, when Spring calls, will you still turn away? Winter has wooed you in vain, and shall May? Love, when Spring calls, will you go? MEDWAY SONG (_Air: Carnaval de Venise_) Let Housman sing of Severn shore, Of Thames let Arnold sing, But we will sing no river more Save this where crowbars ring. Let others sing of Henley, Of fashion and renown, But we will sing the thirteen locks That lead to Tonbridge town! Then sing the Kentish river, The Kentish fields and flowers, We waste no dreams on other streams Who call the Medway ours. When on the level golden meads The evening sunshine lies, The little voles among the reeds Look out with wondering eyes. The patient anglers linger The placid stream beside, Where still with towering tarry prow The stately barges glide. Then sing the Kentish river, The Kentish fields and flowers, We waste no dreams on other streams Who call the Medway ours. On Medway banks the May droops white, The wild rose blossoms fair, O’er meadow-sweet and loosestrife bright, For water nymphs to wear. And mid the blowing rushes Pan pipes a joyous song, And woodland things peep from the shade As soft we glide along. Then sing the Kentish river, The Kentish fields and flowers, We waste no dreams on other streams Who call the Medway ours. You see no freight on Medway boats Of fashions fine and rare, But happy men in shabby coats, And girls with wind-kissed hair. The world’s a pain forgotten, And very far away, The stream that flows, the boat that goes-- These are our world to-day. Then sing the Kentish river, The Kentish fields and flowers, We waste no dreams on other streams Who call the Medway ours. CHAINS INVISIBLE The lilies in my garden grow, Wide meadows ring my garden round, In that green copse wild violets blow, And pale, frail cuckoo flowers are found. For all you see and all you hear, The city might be miles away, And yet you feel the city near Through all the quiet of the day. Sweet smells the earth--wet with sweet rain-- Sweet lilac waves in moonlight pale, And from the wood beyond the lane I hear the hidden nightingale. Though field and wood about me lie, Hushed soft in dew and deep delight, Yet can I hear the city’s sigh Through all the silence of the night.