For, hath not spring the promise of the year? Is she not always dear To those who can look forward and forget? Her woods do nurse the violet; With cowslips fair her fragrant fields are set; And freckled butterflies Gleam in her gleaming skies; And life looks larger, as each lengthening day Withdraws the shadow, and drinks up the tear: Youth shall be youth for ever; and the gay High-hearted summer with her pomps is near. III. Yes; but the soul that meditates and grieves, And guards a precious past, And feels that neither joy nor loveliness can last— To her, the fervid flutter of our Spring Is like the warmth of that barbarian hall To the scared bird, whose wet and wearied wing Shot through it once, and came not back at all. Poor shrunken soul! she knows her fate too well; Too surely she can tell That each most delicate toy her fancy made, And she herself, and what she prized and knew, And all her loved ones too, Shall soon lie low, forgotten and decay’d, Like autumn leaves. SILENCE. (OF A DEAF PERSON.) I SEE the small birds fluttering on the trees, And _know_ the sweet notes they are softly singing; I see the green leaves trembling in the breeze, And _know_ the rustling that such breeze is bringing; I see the waters rippling as they flow, And _know_ the soothing murmur of their noise; I see the children in the fire-light’s glow, Laughing and playing with their varied toys; I see the signs of merriment and mirth; I see the music of God’s lovely earth; I see the earnest talk of friend with friend, And wish my earnest thoughts with theirs could blend; But oh! to my deaf ears there comes no sound, I live a life of silence most profound. LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. DEAR heart! what a little time it is, since Francis and I used to walk From church in the still June evenings together, busy with loving talk; And now he is gone far away over seas, to some strange foreign country,—and I Shall never rise from my bed any more, till the day when I come to die. I tried not to think of him during the prayers; but when his dear voice I heard I fail’d to take part in the hymns, for my heart flutter’d up to my throat like a bird; And scarcely a word of the sermon I caught. I doubt ’twas a grievous sin; But ’twas only one poor little hour in the week that I had to be happy in. When the blessing was given, and we left the dim aisles for the light of the evening star, Though I durst not lift up my eyes from the ground, yet I knew that he was not far; And I hurried on, though I fain would have stayed, till I heard his footstep draw near, And love rising up in my breast like a flame, cast out every shadow of fear.