SUNDAY REVERY
SUNDAY REVERY
Beyond my dingy window pane,
This beamy Sunday morn,
I watch the red-breast on the vane
And the ravens robbing corn;
Hard by, the Alabama boils
Its sallow flood along,
With drift-wood biers and forest spoils-—
A melancholy throng!
The rich horizon melts away
To an illumined arch,
With summer tresses all astray
Upon the brows of March;
The birds, inebriate with glees,
Seem happiest when they sing,
Thrilling the aromatic trees
With symphonies of Spring.
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