Little Margaret is lying under the ground,
And the elm trees are awake!
Little Margaret is lying under the ground,
And the red buds swell and break.
The sap runs warm where the boughs were chill,
And the flowers are coming on;
The birds sing loud that have been so still,
But little Margaret is gone!
There's a whispering now, there's a long, long sigh
Through the limbs of the stirring trees --
A purple smoke 'twixt the earth and sky,
And the drone of moving bees.
"Where are you, Margaret? Come and play!"
The elm trees lean and look.
"Where is the child that came each day,
With her curls and her picture-book?"
Where are you, Margaret, where are you now?
Does your spirit hunt the bees?
Or court the buds on the last red bough,
Or catch the sun through the trellised trees?
Little Margaret is lying under the ground,
And the elm trees are awake!
Little Margaret is lying under the ground,
What shall I do? My heart will break.
First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 5 April 1930
