| LOVELIEST of trees, the cherry now | |
| Is hung with bloom along the bough, | |
| And stands about the woodland ride | |
| Wearing white for Eastertide. | |
| 5 | |
| Now, of my threescore years and ten, | |
| Twenty will not come again, | |
| And take from seventy springs a score, | |
| It only leaves me fifty more. | |
| 10 | |
| And since to look at things in bloom | |
| Fifty springs are little room, | |
| About the woodlands I will go | |
| To see the cherry hung with snow. |