A Leaf From The Calendar



 


 


WHERE wood-violets love to grow,


Thickly lies the winter snow;


Where the streamlet sung and danced,


And the summer sunbeam glanced




Through the meadow, down the dale,


All is hushed, and chill, and pale!


Where the crow-foot's tender green


Earliest in the spring is seen;




Where the checker-berries hide


By the pale arbutus' side;


And the cowslips, tipped with gold,


By the brooklet's edge unfold;




Where the ferret, soft and brown,


Stores his nest with pilfered down;


And the field-mouse in the heather


Sleeps for days and weeks together;




And the squirrel, wise and dumb,


Waits for better days to come,—


Lies the winter, bitter, strong,


Heaped through freezing nights and long;




While the tempest comes and goes,


Sliding swift o'er drifted snows:


Clouds above and gloom below;


Tell me—when will winter go?




When the buds begin to swell;


When the streams leap through the dell;


When the swallows dip and fly,


Wheeling, circling, through the sky;




When the violet bids the rose


Waken from its long repose;


When the gnats in sunshine dance;


When the long, bright hours advance;




When the robin by the door


Sings as ne'er he sang before,—


Then, when heart, and flower, and wing


Leap and laugh—then comes the spring.


 


 


Scribner's Magazine