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 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Charade No. 13.
My first had spread her darksome wingO'er all the loveliness of spring;
My third arose with mournful wail—
The young leaves told their first sad tale,
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The hawthorn bloom was scattered wide:
But ere my gloomy first had passed,
When silent was my third at last,
My whole awoke the moonlight dell
To list the sweet tale she could tell;
Then mingled, in strange harmony,
Silence and sweetest melody.
‘Your second, why such strange omission?’
'Tis but a tiny preposition.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |