University of Virginia Library





THE BLOSSOMING SKIES.

The blossoms of the Earth are strown
But sparingly at best;
A handful now and then, we see,
And here and there, flung playfully,
O'er Summer's glowing breast:
Till every green and gracious thing
Seems feathered from an angel's wing.
But when the awful skies above
Are blossoming, they cast
Their heaps of cold, pale phantom flowers
O'er all the earth, like summer showers
Chilled by the northern blast:
Till the dark Earth lies purified,
And heaped with blossoms like a bride.