Spring Reminiscence
“My sweet,” you sang, and, “Sweet,” I sang, And sweet we sang together, Glad to be young as the world was young, Two colts too strong for a tether.
Shall ever a spring be like that spring, Or apple blossoms as white; Or ever clover smell like the clover We lay upon that night?
Shall ever your hand lie in my hand, Pulsing to it, I wonder; Or have the gods, being jealous gods, Envied us our thunder?
Countee Cullen