UNDER THE SNOW.
UNDER the snow lie sweet things out of sight,
Couching like birds beneath a downy breast;
They cluster ’neath the coverlet warm and white,
And bide the winter-time in hopeful rest.
There are the hyacinths, holding ivory tips
Pointed and ready for a hint of sun;
And hooded violets, with dim, fragrant lips
Asleep and dreaming fairy dreams each one.
There lurk a myriad quick and linkèd roots,
Coiled for a spring when the ripe time is near;
The brave chrysanthemum’s pale yellow shoots
And daffodils, the vanguard of the year;
The nodding snowdrop and the columbine;
The hardy crocus, prompt to hear a call;
Pensile wistaria and thick woodbine;
And valley lilies, sweetest of them all.
All undismayed, although the drifts are deep,
All sure of spring and strong of cheer they lie;
And we, who see but snows, we smile and keep
The selfsame courage in the by and by.
Ah! the same drifts shroud other precious things,—
Flower-like faces, pallid now and chill,
Feet laid to rest after long journeyings,
And fair and folded hands forever still.
All undismayed, in deep and hushed repose,
Waiting a sweeter, further spring, they lie;
And we, whose yearning eyes see but the snows,
Shall we not trust, like them, the by and by?
SONNET
FOR A BIRTHDAY.
I WISH thee sound health and true sanity,
Ripe youth, a summer heart in age’s snow,
Abiding joy in knowledge, wealth enow
That of the best thou ne’er mayst hindered be;
Long life, love, marriage, children, faithful friends,
Purpose in all thy doing, stintless zeal,
Ambition, enthusiasm, the power to feel
Thy country dearer than thy private ends;
The threefold joy of Nature, books, and fun,
To be thy solace in adversity,
To keep thy father’s name as clean as he,
And so transmit it stainless to thy son;
And lastly, crown of glory and of strife,
May honored death give thee Eternal Life.
Now count my wishes, and, the numbering done,
You’ll find the enumeration—twenty-one.