THE SONG-SPARROW.
In this sweet, tranquil afternoon of Spring,
While the low sun. declines in the clear west,
I sit and hear the blithe song-sparrow sing
His strain of rapture not to be suppressed:
Pondering life's problem strange, while death draws near,—
I listen to his dauntless song of cheer.
While the low sun. declines in the clear west,
I sit and hear the blithe song-sparrow sing
His strain of rapture not to be suppressed:
Pondering life's problem strange, while death draws near,—
I listen to his dauntless song of cheer.
His shadow flits across the quiet stone:
Like that brief transit is my space of days;
For, like a flower's faint perfume, youth is flown
Already, and there rests on all life's ways
A dimness; closer my beloved I clasp,
For all dear things seem slipping from my grasp.
Like that brief transit is my space of days;
For, like a flower's faint perfume, youth is flown
Already, and there rests on all life's ways
A dimness; closer my beloved I clasp,
For all dear things seem slipping from my grasp.
Death touches all; the light of loving eyes
Goes out in darkness, comfort is withdrawn;
Lonely, and lonelier still the pathway lies,
Going toward the fading sunset from the dawn:
Yet hark! while those fine notes the silence break
As if all trouble were some grave mistake!
Goes out in darkness, comfort is withdrawn;
Lonely, and lonelier still the pathway lies,
Going toward the fading sunset from the dawn:
Yet hark! while those fine notes the silence break
As if all trouble were some grave mistake!
