Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1836.pdf/18



beautiful new comer, With white and maiden brow; Thou fairy gift from summer, Why art thou blooming now? This dim and sheltered alley Is dark with winter green; Not such as in the valley At sweet spring-time is seen.

The lime-tree’s tender yellow, The aspen's silvery sheen, With mingling colours mellow The universal green. Now solemn yews are bending Mid gloomy firs around; And in long dark wreaths descending, The ivy sweeps the ground.

No sweet companion pledges Thy health as dew-drops pass; No rose is on the hedges, No violet in the grass. Thou art watching, and thou only, Above the earth’s snow tomb; Thus lovely, and thus lonely, I bless thee for thy bloom.

Though the singing rill be frozen, While the wind forsakes the west; Though the singing birds have chosen Some lone and silent rest; Like thee, one sweet thought lingers In a heart else cold and dead, Though the summer’s flowers, and singers, And sunshine, long hath fled:

’Tis the love for long years cherished, Yet lingering, lorn, and lone; Though its lovelier lights have perished, And its earlier hopes are flown. Though a weary world hath bound it, With many a heavy thrall; And the cold and changed surround it, It blossometh o’er all.