THE BLOSSOMS OF THE SPRING.
Sweet are the fragrant blossoms of the spring,
And, as I pass, to me a thought they bring,
Pure and delightful from the trees they bear,
An odour wafted by the morning air;
And oh, how fair their colours as they shine
Dipp'd in the early dews,—thus, heart of mine,
Ere yet the griefs of life had o'er thee press'd,
Sweet hopes and happiness so kindly bless'd;
As pure and fair as these sweet flowers of spring,
So soon to die,—the tempest's offering!
And, as I pass, to me a thought they bring,
Pure and delightful from the trees they bear,
An odour wafted by the morning air;
And oh, how fair their colours as they shine
Dipp'd in the early dews,—thus, heart of mine,
Ere yet the griefs of life had o'er thee press'd,
Sweet hopes and happiness so kindly bless'd;
As pure and fair as these sweet flowers of spring,
So soon to die,—the tempest's offering!