I told you the winter would go, love,
I told you the winter would go.
That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.
You said the blustering fellow
Would never yield to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death
The flowers, and birds, and trees.
And I told you the snow would melt, love,
In the passionate glance o' the sun;
And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees,
Would come back again, one by one.
That the great, gray clouds would vanish
And the sky turn tender and blue
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring,
And, love, it has all come true.
I told you that sorrow would fade love
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again;
That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.
I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and so full of warm light
That 'twould waken at length, in its smile.
Ah, love! was I not a true prophet?
There's a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown--the snow-drift is gone,
And the buttercups bloom in its place.
[LOST.]
You left me with the autumn time;
When winter stripped the forest bare,
Then dressed it in his spotless rime;
When frosts were lurking in the air
You left me here and went away.
The winds were cold; you could not stay.
You sought a warmer clime, until
The south wind, artful maid, should break
The winter's trumpets, and should fill
The air with songs of birds; and wake
The sleeping blossoms on the plain
And make the brooks to flow again.
I thought the winter desolate,
And all times felt a sense of loss.
I taught my longing heart to wait,
And said, "When spring shall come across
The hills, with blossoms in her track,
Then she, our loved one, will come back."
And now the hills with grass and moss
The spring with cunning hands has spread,
And yet I feel my grievous loss.
My heart will not be comforted,
But crieth daily, "Where is she
You promised should come back to me?"
Oh, love! where are you! day by day;
I seek to find you, but in vain.
Men point me to a grave, and say:
"There is her bed upon the plain."
But though I see no trace of you,
I cannot think their words are true.