 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
131
XVII.
[How pleasant through the long, dark winter-hour]
How pleasant through the long, dark winter-hour,
When every pane is hoar with ferny rime,
To dream dear Summer back, before her time,
And fancy-paint the field with herb and flower!
When every pane is hoar with ferny rime,
To dream dear Summer back, before her time,
And fancy-paint the field with herb and flower!
On this bare thorn the budding roses blow;
And violet-eyes peep dark from yonder bank,
Breathing their sweetness; and still waters flow
By never-ending cowslips, rank on rank:
And violet-eyes peep dark from yonder bank,
Breathing their sweetness; and still waters flow
By never-ending cowslips, rank on rank:
The drowsy woodland scarce can sleep for song,
Despite the hovering bee's low lullaby—
Oh! happy he, whose fancy can descry
Whatever sweets to any hour belong!
Despite the hovering bee's low lullaby—
Oh! happy he, whose fancy can descry
Whatever sweets to any hour belong!
For who the chain of stubborn Time can sever,
He kings it upon earth, though crownèd never.
He kings it upon earth, though crownèd never.
| Poems by James Rhoades | |