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.
Public-domain source text
Spring Song
by George MacDonald
From Standard Ebooks · standardebooks/george-macdonald_poetry
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This is a source transcription from Standard Ebooks, published in Past Poetry’s public-domain archive without line-by-line editorial notes. Public-domain source edition. Availability can vary by territory.
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