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DOWN BY THE WHITENING BIRCHES

Down by the whitening birches
which sweep their branches free
over the face of a prairie lake
my lover met with me.
Beneath the sweeping birches
my lover met with me.
          Springtime was on our hands and lips
          so lightly loved we then
          our footsteps floated in the clouds
          no dreams of darkness then
          floating on high among the clouds
          no dreams of darkness then!
     And young, young, young, have the harebells rung?
     And love, love, love, has the soft thrush sung?
     And young, young, young, has the soft thrush sung?

Down by the whitening birches
When their leaves were weeping fast
I scraped a grave and there I laid
my love for him at last.
A grave I scraped, a hateful bed,
and laid my love at last.
          Now wintertime is on the wane
          Springtime is coming soon.
          I cannot float among the clouds
          nor bear the light of noon.
          The clouds I cannot float among
          nor bear the light of noon.
     And old, old, old, have the lake waves rolled.
     And cold, cold, cold, has the North wind tolled.
     Oh, old, old, old, has the North wind tolled.
Down by the blackening birches
loaded with leaf buds so,
I rest within the shadow
for my heart has broken low.
Within their shelter shadow
my heart has broken low.

      

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Copyright 1989 by Mildred A. Rose,

all rights reserved.
Originally published by The Music House Press.
No part of this collection may be reproduced,
except in short reviews, without the
author's permission.

Sep 07, 2010, 07:40 AM CST

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