  The wind has shaken the lilac trees, And scattered their purple bloom, The wind has harassed the honey bees, And robbed the flowers of their melodies, The wind has gathered a host of clouds, And smitten the earth with gloom. The wind has blown out the golden lights That hang from laburnum boughs, Till nude and stripped of their past delights The branches sigh through the stormy nights, Like nuns who weep for their buried youth, And murmur their mournful vows. The wind has covered the hills with mist, And hidden my favourite view, The wind has torn at my garden beds Where sad young roses have hung their heads, And ah! the pity, that one slim stem Is withered, and snapped right through. The wind has driven the birds afar, The starling who reared her young Above the door in the empty cot Has flown away, and to-day there's not A single twitter from hungry throats, One minstrel, of all who sung. The wind has stolen the warmth of June, So how shall I pass my time? I'll go indoors with my pen and book, Beside the fire seek a cosy nook, Then when I'm sure that he can't get in, I'll write of his sins in rhyme! |
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