Classic Poem

The woods were pale around me,
And dull and gray the sky,
A deathlike sadness bound me,
And yet I scarce knew why.

The withered leaves were flying,
Approaching Winter's prey;
My heart,—I whispered, sighing,—
So flee thy joys away!

Thy spring, so bright and blooming,
Thy gorgeous summer's o'er;
A frozen clod—a gloomy
Cold sky—are left—no more!

When, hark! such heavenly singing!
And lo! high o'er me flies
A bird of passage, winging
His way toward Southern skies

Ah! as that strain came pealing,
With sound of flapping wings,
I felt a gush of healing
From life's mysterious springs.

And, in that gray November,
The guest, as off he flew,
Cried, ‘Human soul, remember
That thou hast pinions, too!’