Page:Poems (Fields)-1.djvu/58

 VILLAGER'S WINTER-EVENING SONG.

a leaf on the tree,—not a bud in the hollow,

Where late swung the blue-bell, and blossomed the rose;

And hushed is the cry of the swift-darting swallow,

That circled the lake in the twilight's dim close.

Gone, gone are the woodbine and sweet-scented brier,

That bloomed o'er the hillock and gladdened the vale,

And the vine, that uplifted its green-pointed spire,

Hangs drooping and sear on the frost-covered pale.

And hark to the gush of the deep-welling fountain,

That prattled and shone in the light of the moon;

Soon, soon shall its rushing be still on the mountain,

And locked up in silence its frolicsome tune.