DISAPPOINTMENT.
NDER the leaves of the citron tree, With breath of the blossoms cameFaintly the scent of heliotrope, Fresh from her summer's dream.How oft it is with sweets of life, Of love and friendship's power,Fragrance may breathe from out the past, Though tears must have their hour.
Under the snow the crocus blooms, By the glacier cliff, low liesThe oft' exiled soldanella, Born from the tears of ice.
The sun that melts the cold ice-cliff, To refresh that Alpine flower,Is the same smile of God that warms The heart in her dreary hour.
