Classic Poem

O Morn! by softest breezes fanned,
Pour down thy sunlight in a flood!
The Spring is laughing o'er the land,
And dancing in my blood!
I clasp a warm hand, soft and fair,
A strange wild joy my bosom swells;
And floats upon the happy air
The chime of marriage-bells.

The Summer sky in beauty glows;
The Summer breezes murmur light;
And, underneath the blossoming rose,
The dews are glistening bright.
And Summer, fair in every part,
A thing of joy to me has grown,—
I feel the love-warmth of a heart
That beats against mine own!

The leaves are falling sere and dead;
Hushed is the Summer's gladsome hum;
The Summer flowers their bloom have shed,
And Autumn-time has come.
The light has passed from sea and shore,
These days are not the days of old;
hold the hand I held of yore,
But, ah! its clasp is cold!

O wind of Winter, rave and blow;
Sweep wildly o'er each crested wave!
Howl up the slopes across the snow,
But pause upon her grave!
Wail sadly there: then onward start
With louder gust and wilder moan!—
The joy hath perished from my heart,
And I go forth alone!