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154

WRITTEN ON A WARM DAY IN DECEMBER

I

Round and round the weary land
Run the signs of Venus' hand
Most fair:
Blue the gentle skies, and bland
The air!

II

Surely in the mossy nooks
There are violets, and the brooks
Are edged
By soft petals,—and the rooks
Are fledged!

155

III

Surely roses soon will blow,
For the starry bloom of snow
This year
Not a meadow seems to know
Nor fear!

IV

Surely Love will soon arise
With the summer in his eyes,
And dreams
Of the tender moonlit skies
And streams!

V

In the winter when the cold
Starves the sheep within the fold,—
Nor shines
The hair of tawny gold
Love twines;

156

VI

Then dreary are the days,—
But the meadows and blue bays
This year
Mark the summer sound of lays
Most clear!

VII

For the mellow skies are bright,
And the plumage of the white
Snow-storm
Scatters not the clouds so light
And warm.

VIII

And the nights are still as fair
As in June, when all the air
Was gay,
And when beauty shone too rare
For day!
December, 1881.