University of Virginia Library


54

AT THE SAME TIME.

Sweet fragrance and soft springtide air,
Green bursting leaves, most fresh, most fair,
Your charms show bright in wood and plain;
But, oh, for me, in vain—in vain!
For this warm breath can never start
The sap of hope in my dead heart;
This vital season hath no spell
In me a bud of joy to swell.
The icy season melts apace
From the young sun's celestial face;
Far in the future summer shows,
And farther golden autumn glows.
But the cold passion of my grief
Must last and never find relief;
Fresh springs renew the rolling year,
But winter sits eternal here.
1846