 | Beads from a Rosary |  |
88
WINTER AND THE FLOWERS.
Old Winter loveth not the flowers, for theyDo mind him, with their meek and innocent looks,
How soon his sceptre must be laid aside.
Awhile since came the snow-drop, preaching thus:
Him Winter heard, and hearing, inly vowed,
That he would wreak upon those rebel hosts
Sudden and sharp revenge; so putting on
The aspect of mild Spring, he bade the winds
Blow softly, and the unclouded sun look down
With warmer radiance on the quickening earth;
This did he many a day, till, one by one,
Came forth the trusting flowers, and 'gan to ope
Their fairy blossoms, and their perfumes pour
Upon the pinions of the treacherous breeze;
92
And stripping off the mask, with killing eyes
He looked around; his helpless victims shrank
Beneath that cruel gaze, and on their stems
Hung, droopingly and pale; then shouted he
To his pitiless gaoler, Frost, to bind his realm,
Meadow, and garden, each green pastoral spot,
And woodland nook, and dell, and river-bank,
In chains of adamant;—next morn the flowers
Lay on the icy earth, withered and dead;
But the sweet sky, as if in gentle ruth
For such fell ravage, veiled the sun with clouds,
And spread, with weeping face, above their graves,
A pall of virgin snow.
| Beads from a Rosary | |