 | Poems and Lancashire Songs |  |
23
KEEN BLOWS THE NORTH WIND.
I
Keen blows the north wind; the woodlands are bare;The snow-shroud lies white on the flowerless lea;
The red-breast is wailing the death of the year,
As he cowers his wing in the frozen haw-tree.
II
The leaves of the forest, now summer is o'er,Lie softly asleep in the lap of decay;
And the wildflower rests on the snow-covered shore,
Till the cold night of winter has wandered away.
24
III
Oh, where are the small birds that sang in yon bowersWhen last summer smiled on the green-mantled plain?
Oh, where do they shelter in winter's bleak hours?
Will they come back with spring, to delight me again?
IV
But I may be gone, never more to beholdThe wildflowers peep, when the winter has fled;
The chill drifts of sorrow the wanderer may fold,
And the sunshine of spring melt the snow on his bed.
V
But come, ye sweet warblers, and sport in the spray,Whose tender revival I never may see;
25
'Twill cheer the sad-hearted, as oft it cheered me.
VI
And should ye, returning, then find me at rest,Stay sometimes, and sing near the grave of a friend;
Drop a rosemary leaf on his turf-covered breast,
And rejoice that his troublesome journey's at end.
| Poems and Lancashire Songs | |