BLIND.
He knows the summer comes, for nowThe pleasant south wind seeks his brow;He hears the twitter and the songOf building birds the whole day long.For him the violet breathes and blows;The pansy's perfume comes and goes;And hint of honeysuckles' bloomFor him forever in the gloom.
But not for him the dewy mornHangs heaven upon the idle thorn;But not for him the splendid dayBlazons the azure on its way;And not for him the awful nightWings upward her eternal flight.
But to be blind, and be like him,When far away these shadows swim,While God's bright lilies to and froShake softly all their gold and snow,
