Loveliest of trees the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bow,
And stands along the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now of my threescore years and ten
Twenty I’ll not see again
And take from seventy springs a score
it only leaves me fifty more
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room
About the woodland I will go
to see the cherry hung with snow.