Dorothea Mackellar (1 July 1885 – 14 January 1968 / Sydney)
An Old Song
The almond bloom is overpast, the apple blossoms blow.
I never loved but one man, and I never told him so.
My flowers will never come to fruit, but I have kept my pride -
A little, cold, and lonely thing, and I have naught beside.
The spring-wind caught my flowering dreams, they lightly blew away.
I never had but one true love, and he died yesterday.
Comments about this poem (An Old Song by Dorothea Mackellar )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley