THE RIVULET. The violet there, in soft May dew, Thou changest not-but I am changed, The colouring of romance it wore. Yet well has Nature kept the truth She promised to my earliest youth. A few brief years shall pass away, And I, all trembling, weak, and gray, 83 Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold And I shall sleep-and on thy side, As ages after ages glide, Children their early sports shall try, And pass to hoary age and die. But thou, unchanged from year to year, Gayly shalt play and glitter here; Amid young flowers and tender grass Thy endless infancy shalt pass; And, singing down thy narrow glen, Shalt mock the fading race of men. MARCH. 85 MARCH. THE stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies. Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May. H Then sing aloud the gushing rills And the full springs, from frost set free, That, brightly leaping down the hills, Are just set out to meet the sea. The year's departing beauty hides But in thy sternest frown abides Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, And that soft time of sunny showers, When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, Seems of a brighter world than ours. SONNET TO 87 SONNET TO Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine. And they who love thee wait in anxious grief |