Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1832.pdf/56

Rh

38

Alas, thou gladsome Winter, Thy festival is done, Thy frost-work world of gossamer Is melting in the sun. Forth come the early violets, Such pale blue in their eyes, As if they caught their colour From gazing on the skies.

And a green and tender verdure Is on the hawthorn tree, And a break of crimson promise Shews what the rose will be. The primrose clothes the meadow, The birds are on the wing, And a thousand flowers are waking Beneath the feet of Spring.

Let the year pursue its changes, Let the seasons fade and fall, That valley has a welcome And a beauty for them all.