SONG.
When the great breezes call From east to west,And through the turfy wall Sing him to rest;While lightly snow-flakes fall Upon his breast,Till the low bed be hidBy their soft coverlid, So fair and frore,— Could love of mine do more?
When flower and leaf and light The green sod bless;When, out of heaven's height, The sunbeams pressAround him the delight Of their caress,And from the hemlock hear,Where little nests lie near, The bird-songs pour,— Could love of mine do more?
