 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
281
THE BLUE-BIRD.
“When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing,
When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing,
O, then comes the blue-bird, the herald of spring,
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season.”
Wilson.
When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing,
O, then comes the blue-bird, the herald of spring,
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season.”
Wilson.
A bird, perched on my garden-rail,
While falls the drizzling rain,
And nature hath a voice of wail,
Outpours a cheerful strain.
Wherewith can I compare the hue
That decks its back and wings—
Old Ocean's azure, or the blue
O'er heaven that June-time flings?
While falls the drizzling rain,
And nature hath a voice of wail,
Outpours a cheerful strain.
Wherewith can I compare the hue
That decks its back and wings—
Old Ocean's azure, or the blue
O'er heaven that June-time flings?
Oh, no! the fresh deep tint they wear
That clothes the violet-flower,
When nodding in the vernal air,
And laughing in the shower.
From earth I feel my soul withdrawn,
I am a child again,
While thus flows eloquently on
The burthen of its strain:
That clothes the violet-flower,
When nodding in the vernal air,
And laughing in the shower.
From earth I feel my soul withdrawn,
I am a child again,
While thus flows eloquently on
The burthen of its strain:
“Wipe, weeping April! from thine eyes
Away the rainy tears,
A voice that tells of cloudless skies
Is ringing in mine ears:
Fair flowers, thy daughters, mourned as dead,
Will start up from the mould,
And, filled with dewy nectar, spread
Their leaflets as of old.
Away the rainy tears,
A voice that tells of cloudless skies
Is ringing in mine ears:
Fair flowers, thy daughters, mourned as dead,
Will start up from the mould,
And, filled with dewy nectar, spread
Their leaflets as of old.
282
“The brotherhood of trees—the strong—
Green diadems will wear,
And sylphs of summer all day long
Braid roses in their hair;
And, harbinger of weather mild,
The swallow will dart by,
While brighter green adorns the wild,
And deeper blue the sky.
Green diadems will wear,
And sylphs of summer all day long
Braid roses in their hair;
And, harbinger of weather mild,
The swallow will dart by,
While brighter green adorns the wild,
And deeper blue the sky.
“Soon, April, will thy naked brows
With fragrant wreaths be crowned,
And low winds in the leafy boughs
Awake a slumberous sound.
Charged by a Power who made my way
Through airy deserts plain,
I come to breathe a truthful lay,
And make thee smile again.”
With fragrant wreaths be crowned,
And low winds in the leafy boughs
Awake a slumberous sound.
Charged by a Power who made my way
Through airy deserts plain,
I come to breathe a truthful lay,
And make thee smile again.”
Plumed pilgrim from a southern shore,
Thrice welcome to our land!
Telling the bard of good in store,
Of golden hours at hand.
Throbs merrily thy little breast
In reddish vesture clad;
A scene of sorrow and unrest
Thou comest, bird, to glad!
Thrice welcome to our land!
Telling the bard of good in store,
Of golden hours at hand.
Throbs merrily thy little breast
In reddish vesture clad;
A scene of sorrow and unrest
Thou comest, bird, to glad!
So through thy hall, oh, human heart!
Its inner gloom to light,
Rays of celestial sheen that dart
Herald the death of night;
Telling full sweetly of a clime
Where winter is unknown,
Of fields beyond the shore of Time,
With flowers that die not strown.
Its inner gloom to light,
Rays of celestial sheen that dart
Herald the death of night;
Telling full sweetly of a clime
Where winter is unknown,
Of fields beyond the shore of Time,
With flowers that die not strown.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |