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The Little Prophet.
(February speaks.)
Though the clouds are hanging low,
And the streams can hardly go
(All their babbling voices dumb),
Trust me, better days will come!
Don't despair.
I'm a prophet, I'm a seer;
I can see, and I can hear,
Singing travellers on their way
To this Northland bleak and gray;
Don't despair.
I have seen the field-mice run
All abroad, to take the sun;
I have heard the peepers plaint,
From the marshes, far and faint;
Don't despair.
I'm a prophet; I can spy
In this branch so brown and dry
Leaves and flowers that soon will wake,
And their prison-fetters break;
Don't despair.
Edith M. Thomas.
