Old Year Leaves | ||
153
UNFULFILLED YEARNINGS.
When Summer's sweetest influence
Is shed o'er plain and hill,
And Nature gains her recompense
For working Winter's will,
We feel a void—a weary sense
Of something wanting still.
Is shed o'er plain and hill,
And Nature gains her recompense
For working Winter's will,
We feel a void—a weary sense
Of something wanting still.
In Autumn, when each searing leaf
With sorrow aye is fraught,
And every garnered golden sheaf
Yields fruit for saddest thought,
We feel a void—our spirits' grief
For something vainly sought.
With sorrow aye is fraught,
And every garnered golden sheaf
Yields fruit for saddest thought,
We feel a void—our spirits' grief
For something vainly sought.
154
When Winter with his ice-cold hand
Grasps giant-like the ground,
And stiff and stark lies all the land
In frost's firm fetters bound,
We feel a void—we understand
'Tis something still unfound.
Grasps giant-like the ground,
And stiff and stark lies all the land
In frost's firm fetters bound,
We feel a void—we understand
'Tis something still unfound.
When Spring returns with fairest face,
Filling the earth with song,
And gladness seems in every place,
And love and life are strong,
Ah me! even then we fail to trace
The dream for which we long.
Filling the earth with song,
And gladness seems in every place,
And love and life are strong,
Ah me! even then we fail to trace
The dream for which we long.
Old Year Leaves | ||