338 AN APRIL NIGHT.
Once a seeming tearful sob
Set tny pulses all athrob ; And I stared with dim forebodings through the room ;
But a gust of misty laughter
Breaking up the sound, just after, Bore away the dismal fancy none too soon.
By and by the measured flow, Growing softer, sinking slow,
Lulled and soothed the weary tumult in my brain; Till, half waking, half asleep, Dream-like scenes around me creep,
Ever changing, ever blending with the rain.
Mossy banks where violets grow, — I had roamed there long ago —
Bosky dells where swelling May buds shun the sight ; Holding close, in leafy cells, Rosy tints and woodsy smells,
Till the gentle hands that love them bring the light .
Spreading meadows, green and low, Where the yellow cowslips grow —
Racing brooks that babble, babble as they glide; Sending little jets of spray, In their own delightful way,
Over everything that dabbles in their tide.
Now the morn comes creeping in,
And the daily cares begin ; While the baker's bells are jangling by the door.
Clouds and fancies fade away
In the steady glare of day, And the pleasant April madrigal is o'er.
Concord, N. H.
�� �
