Poems (Denver)/Hark to the low Wind's sighing

by Mary Caroline Denver

HARK TO THE LOW WINDS SIGHING!

Hark, to the low winds sighing,
 Leaves rustle sad;
In the vestments of the dying,
 Autumn is clad.
Ye, who saw the summer-flower
 Blooming in May,
Now pause to ponder o'er
 Nature's decay.

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!

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.

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!