Woods in April! how I love thee!
Harbinger of sweet, springtime!
Joy thou always bringest to me,
When thou ringest out thy chime.—
Harbinger of sweet, springtime!
Joy thou always bringest to me,
When thou ringest out thy chime.—
DEVOTION
She was not rich, or of high estate;
And, true, she was not beautiful.—
She was not young—and, yet, not old:
There were silver threads within her hair
And lines upon her face and brow.—
And, yet, a lover came to woo:
A lover, young and handsome too—
Ah, not a youth, but of full manhood.—
And many a blossom fair, he brought,
And many a gift to her he gave:
And when she smiled, he was content;
And when she frowned his heart grew sad.
And gossips shook their sage, old heads
And wondered what he saw in her
To lure him there on summer eves,
And waste his time, when he might woo
A fairer one with youth and wealth—
One far more fit to be his bride.—
And thus they gossiped o'er their tea.—
But he heeded them not, no, not at all!
One day he led her to the church
And proudly made her his dear wife.—
The tender love he bore to her
Was not of choice, but destiny.
And, true, she was not beautiful.—
She was not young—and, yet, not old:
There were silver threads within her hair
And lines upon her face and brow.—
And, yet, a lover came to woo:
A lover, young and handsome too—
Ah, not a youth, but of full manhood.—
And many a blossom fair, he brought,
And many a gift to her he gave:
And when she smiled, he was content;
And when she frowned his heart grew sad.
And gossips shook their sage, old heads
And wondered what he saw in her
To lure him there on summer eves,
And waste his time, when he might woo
A fairer one with youth and wealth—
One far more fit to be his bride.—
And thus they gossiped o'er their tea.—
But he heeded them not, no, not at all!
One day he led her to the church
And proudly made her his dear wife.—
The tender love he bore to her
Was not of choice, but destiny.
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