 | This, that and the other |  |
SPRING-TIME RAIN.
All day long has the rain beat down,
Slowly beat on a lonely grave;
All day long, 'neath the gray sky's frown
Beat like the flood of a briny wave.
Drops have beaded the meadow grass,
Drops have dashed on the willow-tree,
And the village children pattering pass,
A pleasant sight in the rain to see.
Flowers are bowing their heads at prayers,
Birds are ringing their vesper bell,
Monodies wild, and mournful airs,
From viewless harps of the wind-sprites swell.
Still, in a grave-yard lone and old,
Riseth a tomb-stone fair and white,
Pillar that sculptured seraphs fold,
Cloud by day and fire by night!
There, where the grave-mound groweth green,
Flowerets spring in the summer sun,
Roses and myrtle and eglantine
Weave a wreath round the white head-stone.
Slowly beat on a lonely grave;
All day long, 'neath the gray sky's frown
Beat like the flood of a briny wave.
Drops have beaded the meadow grass,
Drops have dashed on the willow-tree,
And the village children pattering pass,
A pleasant sight in the rain to see.
Flowers are bowing their heads at prayers,
Birds are ringing their vesper bell,
Monodies wild, and mournful airs,
From viewless harps of the wind-sprites swell.
Still, in a grave-yard lone and old,
Riseth a tomb-stone fair and white,
Pillar that sculptured seraphs fold,
Cloud by day and fire by night!
There, where the grave-mound groweth green,
Flowerets spring in the summer sun,
Roses and myrtle and eglantine
Weave a wreath round the white head-stone.
265
Settling down upon shining hair,
Lieth the grave-dust dark and dim;
Down on the brow that was once so fair,
Mouldering round each snowy limb.
Never a fleck of the sunshine steals
Into the grave they have dug so deep;
Never a ray of the moon reveals
The spot where an angel went to sleep.
But when the rain of the spring falls down,
She comes from the world of living streams,
Lighting the earth-life bare and brown
With rosy hues from the land of dreams.
By and by, when the days grow long,
I will lay me down by her side,
Hushed to sleep by the wild-bird's song,
Floating out on the even-tide.
Lieth the grave-dust dark and dim;
Down on the brow that was once so fair,
Mouldering round each snowy limb.
Never a fleck of the sunshine steals
Into the grave they have dug so deep;
Never a ray of the moon reveals
The spot where an angel went to sleep.
But when the rain of the spring falls down,
She comes from the world of living streams,
Lighting the earth-life bare and brown
With rosy hues from the land of dreams.
By and by, when the days grow long,
I will lay me down by her side,
Hushed to sleep by the wild-bird's song,
Floating out on the even-tide.
| This, that and the other | |