 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
64
TO ONE DEPARTED.
In the soft and pale spring sunlight,
In the summer's changing hues,—
In the ringing of the rain-drops,
In the dropping of the dews,
Comes a gentle spirit-whisper
Floating dreamily to me,
In its soft and soul-like accents,
Murmuring, lost one, of thee!
In the summer's changing hues,—
In the ringing of the rain-drops,
In the dropping of the dews,
Comes a gentle spirit-whisper
Floating dreamily to me,
In its soft and soul-like accents,
Murmuring, lost one, of thee!
In the streamlet's gushing laughter,
In the night-wind's wailing moan,
In the breeze-rocked forest's music,
In the wild-bird's gladsome tone,
Still I hear that low sweet breathing
From the harp of memory,
On its viewless pinions bringing
Dearest one, a thought of thee!
In the night-wind's wailing moan,
In the breeze-rocked forest's music,
In the wild-bird's gladsome tone,
Still I hear that low sweet breathing
From the harp of memory,
On its viewless pinions bringing
Dearest one, a thought of thee!
In the wild-bee's drowsy humming,
'Mid the summer's flowering vines,
In the spirit-like complaining
Of the wind among the pines,—
In the thousand dreamy voices
Of the earth and of the sea,
Cometh still that haunting whisper,
Murmuring, lost one, of thee!
'Mid the summer's flowering vines,
In the spirit-like complaining
Of the wind among the pines,—
65
Of the earth and of the sea,
Cometh still that haunting whisper,
Murmuring, lost one, of thee!
In the ocean's surging murmur,
As its ceaseless song it weaves,—
In the light and playful rustle
Of the wind among the leaves,—
Wheresoe'er my footsteps wander
Cometh still that voice to me,
Like a sweet resounding echo,
Murmuring ever, love, of thee!
As its ceaseless song it weaves,—
In the light and playful rustle
Of the wind among the leaves,—
Wheresoe'er my footsteps wander
Cometh still that voice to me,
Like a sweet resounding echo,
Murmuring ever, love, of thee!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |