The Seasons of Love.
The spring-time of love
Is both happy and gay,
For joy sprinkles blossoms
And balm in our way;
The sky, earth, and ocean,
In beauty repose,
And all the bright future
Is COLEUR DE ROSE.
The summer of love
Is the bloom of the heart,
When hill, grove, and valley,
Their music impart;
And the pure glow of heaven
Is seen in fond eyes,
As lakes show the rainbow
That's hung in the skies.
The autumn of love
Is the season of cheer—
Life's mild Indian summer,
The smile of the year!
Which comes when the golden
Ripe harvest is stored,
And yields its own blessings—
Repose and reward.
The winter of love
Is the beam that we win
While the storm scowls without,
From the sunshine within.
Love's reign is eternal—
The heart is his throne,
And he has all seasons
Of life for his own.
My Woodland Bride.
Here upon the mountain-side
Till now we met together;
Here I won my woodland bride,
In flush of summer weather.
Green was then the linden-bough,
This dear retreat that shaded;
Autumn winds are round me now,
And the leaves have faded.
She whose heart was all my own,
In this summer-bower,
With all pleasant things has flown,
Sunbeam, bird, and flower!
But her memory will stay
With me, though we're parted—
From the scene I turn away,
Lone and broken-hearted!
Oh, Think of Me!
Oh, think of me, my own beloved,
Whatever cares beset thee!
And when thou hast the falsehood proved,
Of those with smiles who met thee—
While o'er the sea, think, love, of me,
Who never can forget thee;
Let memory trace the trysting-place,
Where I with tears regret thee.