 | The poems of Trumbull Stickney |  |
170
[VI
A glad little rift, so shy]
A glad little rift, so shy
Back of the boughs' black net,
Shows in the hurrying sky
Blue as a violet,
There!—but it 's all blown by.
Back of the boughs' black net,
Shows in the hurrying sky
Blue as a violet,
There!—but it 's all blown by.
O what a wind to-day
Playing at hide and seek
After the pale sun-ray
That slips from the cloud,—and quick
It 's raining over the way.
Playing at hide and seek
After the pale sun-ray
That slips from the cloud,—and quick
It 's raining over the way.
But I know the winter is done,
No one but me! I know.
Listen, Lovely, my own,
Where under the melted snow
Softly we lie alone.
No one but me! I know.
Listen, Lovely, my own,
Where under the melted snow
Softly we lie alone.
Open the darling eyes,
Breathe of the early air!
My heart, if the weather surprise,
Will shelter thy bud from care.
Trust me, darling, arise.
Breathe of the early air!
My heart, if the weather surprise,
Will shelter thy bud from care.
Trust me, darling, arise.
| The poems of Trumbull Stickney | |