(Holding with clinging claws to elm or oak,)
Until the echoes of thy sturdy whacks
Gave back a sound like to the woodsman's axe;
While thou didst drive thy beak, with point like steel,
Deep in the wood to find thy morning meal.
Until the echoes of thy sturdy whacks
Gave back a sound like to the woodsman's axe;
While thou didst drive thy beak, with point like steel,
Deep in the wood to find thy morning meal.
PICTURES ON THE PANE
The frost gnomes came one Winter's night
While slumber held its grateful reign,
And wrote upon my window pane;
Then stole away with morning light.
I sought to read the scroll aright
Yet had no art to understand
The meaning of so strange a hand;
But when the morning sun grew bright,
The picture melted into rain
And then its mystery was plain.
It was a symbol of man's years,
That set in colors seeming fair,
Beneath life's noonday heat and glare
Oft proves but vanity and tears.
While slumber held its grateful reign,
And wrote upon my window pane;
Then stole away with morning light.
I sought to read the scroll aright
Yet had no art to understand
The meaning of so strange a hand;
But when the morning sun grew bright,
The picture melted into rain
And then its mystery was plain.
It was a symbol of man's years,
That set in colors seeming fair,
Beneath life's noonday heat and glare
Oft proves but vanity and tears.
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