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ROTHERMEL'S WILLOW.
ROTHERMEL'S WILLOW.
VER my neighbor's garden wall There leans a willow-tree, fair and tall,—
A weeping willow, whose long boughs sigh,
And shiver, and sob, as the winds go by,
Like a sorrowful woman, standing there
With drooping garments and drifting hair.
With drooping garments and drifting hair.
And its branches move, as it grieving stands,
With a motion that seems like the wringing of hands.
With a motion that seems like the wringing of hands.
Why does it mourn so, night and day,
And why do its tresses drift this way?
And why do its tresses drift this way?
Why does it seem that the striving tree
Has some sad message to speak to me?
Has some sad message to speak to me?
For hark! in the branches' swinging sweep
There comes a whisper like "Weep, O weep!"
There comes a whisper like "Weep, O weep!"
