 | The book of the dead |  |
200
[C. The primrose in the valley blooms]
The primrose in the valley blooms,
The snowdrop swings its silent bells,
The willow droops its tangled plumes,
The maple's tufted blossom swells;
The snowdrop swings its silent bells,
The willow droops its tangled plumes,
The maple's tufted blossom swells;
Long sweeps of tender grass ascend
The hill-side, towards the melting snows,
And where the climbing patches end,
Full-flowered, the low arbutus blows.
The hill-side, towards the melting snows,
And where the climbing patches end,
Full-flowered, the low arbutus blows.
A duller sense than mine should feel
The stir in nature's warming soul;
It makes the shouting bluebirds reel,
And bursts the violet's twisted scroll.
The stir in nature's warming soul;
It makes the shouting bluebirds reel,
And bursts the violet's twisted scroll.
O sullen darkness of the heart!
O fruitless torpor of the brain!
When will your clouds and frosts depart?—
When shall I come to life again?
O fruitless torpor of the brain!
When will your clouds and frosts depart?—
When shall I come to life again?
| The book of the dead | |