winter.
199
The gambols in the new fall'n snow—
The white balls tossing to and fro,—
These prove thou hast some joys to bless,
Though thou art famed for dreariness.
The white balls tossing to and fro,—
These prove thou hast some joys to bless,
Though thou art famed for dreariness.
Then let the roses cease to bloom
Beside my cottage door;
And wild birds seek a greener home
Upon some distant shore;-
The rose of love still blooms for me,
With all its wonted fragrancy;
And fond affection hath a tone,
The greenwood songsters ne'er have known.
Beside my cottage door;
And wild birds seek a greener home
Upon some distant shore;-
The rose of love still blooms for me,
With all its wonted fragrancy;
And fond affection hath a tone,
The greenwood songsters ne'er have known.
The summer's flush, its glowing breath,
Its breezes, fruits, and flowers,
Have charms for all- but still I prize
The dark and wintry hours:
Storms may be thine, and cold, and snow,
And keen the whist'ling winds may blow;
And yet, though wanting many a grace,
Winter, I love thy rugged face.
Its breezes, fruits, and flowers,
Have charms for all- but still I prize
The dark and wintry hours:
Storms may be thine, and cold, and snow,
And keen the whist'ling winds may blow;
And yet, though wanting many a grace,
Winter, I love thy rugged face.
