Like her threads of white and gray,
Passed their mingled Eves away,
One unceasing roundelay—
Winter came, it still was May!
IV.
When the spring smiled, opening up
Pink-lipped flower and acorn cup;
When the summer waked the rose
In the scented briar boughs;
When the earth, with painless throes,
Bore her golden autumn rows—
Field on field of grain, that pressed,
Childlike, to her fruitful breast—
When hale winter wrapped his form
In the mantle of the storm,
Tamed the bird, and chilled the worm,
Stopped the pulse that thrilled the germ;
As the seasons went and came,
One in heart, and hope, and aim,
Cheered they each the other on,
Where was labor to be done,
At day-break or set of sun,
Like two thoughts that merge in one.
{33}
Dignified, and soul-serene,
Busily spun Mariline.