  BUT yesterday the laughing sun Came dancing up the rosy East— You would have thought that it was May; The birds sang clear on every spray. The heart with fuller motion beat, The sad eye flashed with brighter fire; Down to the ground the sunbeams came And lit the crocus’ slender flame. The branches of the lonely pine Rocked to a glad harmonious hymn. The song-bird’s music and the breeze With double laughter shook the trees That cluster round the southern wall, A feathery fringe against the sky; Their yellow branches in the sun Are very fair to look upon. Far down between the rounded hills, I watched a wreath of morning mist Floating in shadow—rising slow, The sunlight glorified its snow. The day was blessÉd. Field and hill Dreamed, bathed in light and lulled with sound. All day my soul at peace within Went carolling her joyful hymn. ——— To-day you cannot see the sun, A blinding mist blots out the sky. You hear the angry waters flow, You hear the wintry breezes blow. The branches of the lonely pine Mutter and sigh tossed to and fro; The birds that chanted in the sun Sit in the covert cold and dumb. The maiden Spring that Yesterday Was born, To-Day, alas! is dead. The pitying heavens drop over all This silent snow for fittest pall. The sobbing winds her requiem sing; The plashing waves upon the shore Sigh hour by hour; the dreary day In mist and silence fades away. The heart is wintry as the earth— Tossed with the storm, and drenched with gloom, And dark with doubts that round her throng, To choke with tears her heavenly song. March 18, 1852. |
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