The Spring That ushered in my closing college-year Came up the valley on her balmy wings, And Winter fled away, and left no trace, Save, here and there a snowy drift, to show Where his cold feet had rested in their flight. But one still night, within the span of sleep, A shivering winter cloud that wandered late Shook to the frosty ground its inch of rime. So, when the morning rose, the earth was white; And shrubs and trees, and roofs and rocks and walls, Fulgent with downy crystals, made a world To which a breath were ruin; and a breath Wrecked it for me, and, by a few sad words, Blotted the sunlit splendor from my sight. As I looked out upon the scene, and mused Of her to whom I hoped it might impart Some healthy touch of joy, I heard the beat Of hoofs upon the trackless blank, and saw A horseman speeding up the avenue. I raised my sash (I knew he came for me), And faltered forth my question. From his breast He drew a folded slip: dismounting then, He stooped and pressed the missive in a mass Of clinging snow, and tossed it to my hand. I closed the window, burst the frosty seal, And read: "Your mother cannot long survive: Come home to her to-day." I did not pause To break the fast of night, but rushing forth, I followed close the messenger's return. It was a morning, such as comes but once In all the Spring,--so still and beautiful, So full of promise, so exhilarant With frost and fire, in earth and air, that life Had been a brimming joy but for the scene That waited for my eyes--the scene of death-- From which imagination staggered back, And every sensibility recoiled. The smoke from distant sugar-camps rolled up Through the still ether in columnar coils-- Blue pillars of a bluer dome--and all The resonant air was full of sounds of Spring. The sheep were bleating round their empty ricks; Horses let loose were calling from afar, And winning fierce replies; the axeman's blows Fell nimbly at the piles which wintry woods Had lent to summer stores; while far and faint, The rhythmic ululations of the hound On a fresh trail, upon the mountain's side, Added their strange wild music to the morn. The beauty and the music caught my sense, But woke within my sick and sinking heart No motion of response. I walked as one Condemned to dungeon-glooms might walk Through shouts of mirth and festal pageantry, Hearing and seeing all, yet over all Hearing the clank of chains and clash of bars, And seeing but the reptiles of his cell. How I arrived at home, without fatigue, Without a thought of effort--onward borne By one absorbing and impelling thought-- As one within a minute's mete may slide, O'er leagues of sunny dreamland in a dream, By magic or by miracle--I found No time to question.