154
HARK TO THE LOW WINDS SIGHING.
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!
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.
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!
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!
