162
THE SONG OF SONGS.
As a wild March evening fell
Bleak New Hampshire's heights along.
Trees were bare and brooks were still;
On Kearsarge the snow was lying;
One red cloud athwart the gray
Faded, faded slow away,
And the north wind down the hill
Like the dirge of hope was sighing.
Bleak New Hampshire's heights along.
Trees were bare and brooks were still;
On Kearsarge the snow was lying;
One red cloud athwart the gray
Faded, faded slow away,
And the north wind down the hill
Like the dirge of hope was sighing.
Hark! a robin in the elm
Warbling notes so glad and free,
Straight he brought a summer realm
Over thousand leagues of sea!
High he sang: "A truce to fear!
Frost and storm are but the portal
We must pass ere June befall,
And the Lord is love through all!"
Lark and thrush, your lays are dear,
But the robin's is immortal!
Warbling notes so glad and free,
Straight he brought a summer realm
Over thousand leagues of sea!
High he sang: "A truce to fear!
Frost and storm are but the portal
We must pass ere June befall,
And the Lord is love through all!"
Lark and thrush, your lays are dear,
But the robin's is immortal!
