Classic Poem

Grieve ye not. The flowers are not dead,
Their beauty fades but for a little while.
Grieve ye not. The leafless branches spread,
The Mother, Spring, shall waken with her smile.

Grieve ye not. Tho' still the fettered lake,
Ice-locked and silent, voiceless, cold, and gray.
The Spring again its melody shall wake,
And all its waves shall whisper to the day.

Grieve ye not. If from the sea and sky
From earth and air a whisper wings to thee,
And tells thee thou asleep in Death shalt lie,
Spring smiles and teaches thee Eternity.