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THROUGH A WINDOW.
THROUGH A WINDOW.
LIE here at rest in my chamber,And look through the window again,
With eyes that are changed since the old time,
And the sting of an exquisite pain.
'Tis not much that I see for a picture,
Through boughs that are green with spring,—
A barn with its roof gray and mossy,
And above it a bird on the wing;
Through boughs that are green with spring,—
A barn with its roof gray and mossy,
And above it a bird on the wing;
Or, lifting my head a thought higher,
Some hills and a village I know,
And over it all the blue heaven,
With a white cloud floating below.
Some hills and a village I know,
And over it all the blue heaven,
With a white cloud floating below.
