 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
177
DECEMBER, 1881.
Up to the blue and cloudless skies,
That bend from east to western peaks,
And have not changed for weary weeks,
I vainly turn my anxious eyes.
And in those skies I see the glow,
Of summer or of wakening spring,
Their smiling countenances bring
No faint suspicion e'en of snow.
That bend from east to western peaks,
And have not changed for weary weeks,
I vainly turn my anxious eyes.
And in those skies I see the glow,
Of summer or of wakening spring,
Their smiling countenances bring
No faint suspicion e'en of snow.
Upon the soft and balmy air
I hear the birdling's joyful trill,
And by the purling mountain rill
The flowers are blooming sweet and fair.
The buds are bursting on the trees,
The blades of grass begin to start,
And oh, I feel it in my heart,
There isn't going to be a freeze!
I hear the birdling's joyful trill,
And by the purling mountain rill
The flowers are blooming sweet and fair.
The buds are bursting on the trees,
The blades of grass begin to start,
And oh, I feel it in my heart,
There isn't going to be a freeze!
Why is it I alone am sad
When all the rest of earth is gay?
Why do I weep my soul away
While other women folks are glad?
Alas, mine is a bitter life,
My only hope, my only trust,
Is in a freeze, or in a bust,
I am an humble plumber's wife.
When all the rest of earth is gay?
Why do I weep my soul away
While other women folks are glad?
Alas, mine is a bitter life,
My only hope, my only trust,
Is in a freeze, or in a bust,
I am an humble plumber's wife.
December, 29th, 1881.
| A little book of tribune verse | |