 | Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) |  |
23
BROKEN FAITH.
Buds on the apple-boughs,
And robins in every tree;
Brown on the children's sun-kissed brows,
A softer blue on the tender sea,
Ah me!
Bees in the maples murmuring,
Brooks on the hillsides;—and yet, O Spring,
Thou hast broken thy faith with me!
And robins in every tree;
Brown on the children's sun-kissed brows,
A softer blue on the tender sea,
Ah me!
Bees in the maples murmuring,
Brooks on the hillsides;—and yet, O Spring,
Thou hast broken thy faith with me!
Broken thy faith with me,
Who have pined for thee so long,—
Waiting and waiting patiently
Through all the Winter's cruel wrong,
Ah me!
Climbing the rugged, desolate hills
To watch the sky for the faintest thrills
Of the azure yet to be.
Who have pined for thee so long,—
Waiting and waiting patiently
Through all the Winter's cruel wrong,
Ah me!
Climbing the rugged, desolate hills
To watch the sky for the faintest thrills
Of the azure yet to be.
Violets sweeten the woods
And purple the river-sides,
While deep in the shady solitudes
The last sweet bud of the arbutus hides,
Ah me!
And the treacherous honey-bee stays his wing
To wrong its sweetness;—but yet, O Spring,
Thou hast broken thy faith with me!
And purple the river-sides,
24
The last sweet bud of the arbutus hides,
Ah me!
And the treacherous honey-bee stays his wing
To wrong its sweetness;—but yet, O Spring,
Thou hast broken thy faith with me!
Never a bud is seen
Within my garden walls,—
Never a touch of sprouting green;
And the fitful sunlight faintly falls,
Ah me!
On broken trellis and leafless vine,
Where last year's tendrils bleach and pine,
With blackened stems between.
Within my garden walls,—
Never a touch of sprouting green;
And the fitful sunlight faintly falls,
Ah me!
On broken trellis and leafless vine,
Where last year's tendrils bleach and pine,
With blackened stems between.
June will be here anon,
Flushing the smiling skies,
Putting her bravest garments on,
Flaunting her roses in homesick eyes,
Ah me!
Which will not smile at the thoughts they bring,
Or weep when they wither;—for thou, O Spring,
Hast broken thy faith with me!
Flushing the smiling skies,
Putting her bravest garments on,
Flaunting her roses in homesick eyes,
Ah me!
Which will not smile at the thoughts they bring,
Or weep when they wither;—for thou, O Spring,
Hast broken thy faith with me!
| Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) | |