Classic Poem

A FEW light drifts of fleecy snow,
And all the skies are bright again,
While gusts of March subdued, now blow
In murmurs only o'er the plain;
They speak of milder guests at hand,
And gentler powers that take the sway,
Sweet nymphs of Spring, a joyous band,
That dance around the maiden May!

Ah! precious flowers, that to the heart
Appeal with promise long to cheer;
Beneath my feet I see ye start,
In token of the awakening year;
Even while the snow-drift sweeps the plain,
Your leaves of blue are gleaming low,
Above the very spot again,
Which made your graves a year ago.

Ye had your mission for a while,
And served as teachers sweet of love,
As infant souls appear to smile,
Then flee, to tempt our souls above;
A thousand seasons hence, when I
Within a grave like yours recline,
My children shall your blossoms spy,
And muse with grateful thoughts like mine.