. Farm legends. love of God encompassed in her smiling, weeping eyes. I will bury on the morrow, too, a grandame, wrinkled, old; One whose pleasures of the present were the joys that had been told; I will bury one whose blessing Was the transport of caressingEvery joy that she had buried—every lost and broken prize;With a gleam of heaven-expected, in her dim and longing eyes. I will joy for her to-morrow, as I see her compassed in; For the lips now pure and holy might be some time stained with sin;And the brow now white and the heart now light and painless, Might have throbbed wi
. Farm legends. love of God encompassed in her smiling, weeping eyes. I will bury on the morrow, too, a grandame, wrinkled, old; One whose pleasures of the present were the joys that had been told; I will bury one whose blessing Was the transport of caressingEvery joy that she had buried—every lost and broken prize;With a gleam of heaven-expected, in her dim and longing eyes. I will joy for her to-morrow, as I see her compassed in; For the lips now pure and holy might be some time stained with sin;And the brow now white and the heart now light and painless, Might have throbbed with guilty passion, and with sin-encumbered sighs Might have surged the sea of brightness in the sweet and changeful eyes. Let them bury her to-morrow—let them treasure her away;Let the soul go back to heaven, and the body back to clay; Let the future grief here hidden. Let the happiness for evermore forgotten, and be buried as it dies ;And an angel let us see her, with our sad and weeping ^Tis Snowing. i53 TIS SNOWING. FIRST VOICE. Hurra! tis snowing!On street and house-roof, gently cast,The falling flakes come thick and fast;They wheel and curve from giddy height,And speck the chilly air with white!Come on, come on, you light-robed storra!My fire within is blithe and warm, And brightly glowing!My robes are thick, my sledge is gay;My champing steeds impatient neigh;My silver-sounding bells are clear,With music for the muffled ear;And she within—my queenly bride—Shall sit right gayly by my side; Hurra! tis snowing! SECOND VOICE. Good God! tis snowing!From out the dull and leaden clouds,The surly storm impatient crowds;It beats against my fragile door,It creeps across my cheerless floor;And through my pantry, void of fare,And oer my hearth, so cold and bare, The wind is blowing;And she who rests her weary headUpon our hard and scanty hopefully, but hopeless bright spring days and whip-poor-will; 154 Poems of Sorrow and Death. The da
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1903
