 | The lesson of life and other poems |  |
161
A SNOW STORM IN APRIL.
Old Winter's last greeting,
As slowly retreating,
Snow flying, hail beating;
The warrior grim
His last stand is making,
His last lance is breaking,
His last vengeance taking,
His glories grow dim.
As slowly retreating,
Snow flying, hail beating;
The warrior grim
His last stand is making,
His last lance is breaking,
His last vengeance taking,
His glories grow dim.
162
On green grass he's hailing,
At young leaves is railing,
His banners are trailing
From yon dusky cloud;
But young leaves dance sprightly,
Gay blossoms gleam brightly,
The rills laugh full lightly
At th' old monarch proud.
At young leaves is railing,
His banners are trailing
From yon dusky cloud;
But young leaves dance sprightly,
Gay blossoms gleam brightly,
The rills laugh full lightly
At th' old monarch proud.
Though the flowers are quaking
At stern Winter's shaking,
Bent almost to breaking,
They lovelier are;
For on their leaves dancing,
Their beauties enhancing,
Bright jewels are glancing,
And flashing afar.
At stern Winter's shaking,
Bent almost to breaking,
They lovelier are;
For on their leaves dancing,
Their beauties enhancing,
Bright jewels are glancing,
And flashing afar.
Gay sunbeams are falling,
Old Winter appalling;
The blue-bird is calling
The Spring's battle-cry.
Though snow drifts are sleeping
'Neath hedges, see peeping,
And over them weeping
The violet's soft eye!
Old Winter appalling;
The blue-bird is calling
The Spring's battle-cry.
163
'Neath hedges, see peeping,
And over them weeping
The violet's soft eye!
Each snow flake descending,
The sun's rays are blending
To rain drops, ere ending
Their fall to the earth.
The blossoms' cheeks burning
The hail-stones are spurning,
Their cold terrors turning
To tears of bright mirth.
The sun's rays are blending
To rain drops, ere ending
Their fall to the earth.
The blossoms' cheeks burning
The hail-stones are spurning,
Their cold terrors turning
To tears of bright mirth.
Hark! Winter is beating
A mournful retreating,
Through forests is fleeting
Before the Sun's might—
Whose banners are streaming,
Whose trophies are gleaming,
Whose smile is soft beaming
O'er valley and height.
A mournful retreating,
Through forests is fleeting
Before the Sun's might—
Whose banners are streaming,
Whose trophies are gleaming,
Whose smile is soft beaming
O'er valley and height.
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