The busy pleasuring bee
Sought thee for company.
The little sparrows near
Sang thee their ballads clear.
The maples on thy head
Their spicy blossoms shed.
Because the storm made dumb
The wild bees booming hum;
Because for shivering
The sparrows cannot sing;
Is this the reason why
Thou look’st so woefully?
To-morrow’s laughing sun
Will cheer thee, pallid one;
To-morrow will bring back
The gay bee on his track,
Bursting thy cloister dim
With his wild roistering.
Canst thou not wait the morrow,
That rids thee of thy sorrow?
Art thou too desolate
To smile at any fate?
Then there is naught for thee
But Death’s delivery.
REGRET
LOOK out, sad heart, through wintry eyes
To see thy summer go:
How pallid are thy bluest skies
Behind this veiling snow.
Look out upon thy purple hills,
That all the summer long,
Laughed with an hundred laughing rills,
And sang their summer song.
You only see the sheeted snow
That covers grass and tree;
The frozen streamlets cannot flow,
No bird dares sing to thee.
Look out upon Life’s summer days
That fade like summer flowers;
What golden fruitage for thy praise,
From all those bounteous hours?