24
BROKEN FAITH.
While deep in the shady solitudes
The last sweet bud of the arbutus hides,
Ah me!
And the treacherous honey-bee stays his wing
To wrong its sweetness;—but yet, O Spring,
Thou hast broken thy faith with me!
The last sweet bud of the arbutus hides,
Ah me!
And the treacherous honey-bee stays his wing
To wrong its sweetness;—but yet, O Spring,
Thou hast broken thy faith with me!
Never a bud is seen
Within my garden walls,—
Never a touch of sprouting green;
And the fitful sunlight faintly falls,
Ah me!
On broken trellis and leafless vine,
Where last year's tendrils bleach and pine,
With blackened stems between.
Within my garden walls,—
Never a touch of sprouting green;
And the fitful sunlight faintly falls,
Ah me!
On broken trellis and leafless vine,
Where last year's tendrils bleach and pine,
With blackened stems between.
June will be here anon,
Flushing the smiling skies,
Putting her bravest garments on,
Flaunting her roses in homesick eyes,
Ah me!
Which will not smile at the thoughts they bring,
Or weep when they wither;—for thou, O Spring,
Hast broken thy faith with me!
Flushing the smiling skies,
Putting her bravest garments on,
Flaunting her roses in homesick eyes,
Ah me!
Which will not smile at the thoughts they bring,
Or weep when they wither;—for thou, O Spring,
Hast broken thy faith with me!
