The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 17/Number 101/Snow
THE Summer comes, and the Summer goes.
Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes,
The sparrows go darting through fragrant rains,
And, all of a sudden,—it snows!
Dear Heart! our lives so happily flow,
So lightly we heed the flying hours,
We only know Winter is gone—by the flowers,
We only know Winter is come—by the Snow!