Poems (Denver)/Hark to the low Wind's sighing
HARK TO THE LOW WINDS SIGHING!
Hark, to the low winds sighing, Leaves rustle sad; In the vestments of the dying, Autumn is clad. Ye, who saw the summer-flower Blooming in May, Now pause to ponder o'er Nature's decay.
Heard ye the sad brook creeping, Mournful along? 'Twas the voice of nature weeping Summer's last song! Hear ye the sad winds swelling Slow, like a knell? 'Tis the voice of nature telling Autumn's farewell!
Sorrow comes with face unsmiling— Turn ye away! Hope, with airy song beguiling— List to her lay! In its tones there's bliss elating, Shall it be forgot? Misery is anticipating Griefs which are not.
Though decay and constant sorrow Life's bloom destroy, Hope sees in the wished-for morrow Something of joy. And though the summer-flowers Still we must mourn, Nature whispers, they are ours— Spring shall return!