SONG.
Reading edition
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BY L. L. M.
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When morn’s soft light is o’er us shed,
When pearl drops bow each taper leaf,
And e’en the lily’s queenly head
Pays homage to the glory brief—
Who ever recks of coming night,
Or grieves that such an hour must be—
Who ever weeps o’er winter’s blight
While summer decks the dewy lea.
The forest leaf now pale and sere
Once bent to roving breezes’ kiss;
The faded flower on Autumn’s bier
Once seemed too gayly bright for this,
Nor did they droop and whisper all
Of mildew dank, of frost and blight;
But ever rang the wild-wood hall
With joyous song and murmur light.
And grievest thou, dear one, that life
Is but a dream that soon is past?
Fear’st thou the briefly bitter strife,
The shadows on thy pathway cast?
Nay, ’tis not well—though day’s soon gone;
The flowers soon pale that bind thy brow;
Though night and death are stealing on,
Forget not, love, ’tis morning now!