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116

AN APRIL SNOW STORM.
HOW strange! to see the flowers of Spring,
'Mid falling snow-wreaths bloom,
And Winter, borne on April's wing,
Reshadow earth with gloom.
To feel the blast that rushes o'er
Young blossoms newly born;
The chill that wraps in night once more
Spring's gay and joyous morn.

Fall as thou wilt, untimely snow,
But short shall be thy reign;
Soon must yon sun's meridian glow
Melt thine unwelcome chain.
Jut ah, in many a blasted leaf,
In many a blighted flower,
Long, long shall live, in tints of grief,
The memory of this hour.

I see the crocus hues decay
Beneath yon stormy skies;
The violet lustre fades away,
The gentle primrose dies.