Sable clouds, that veil the blue
Of the skies, their shadows throw
Here, until their sombre hue
Gives a cast to all below.
Come, O sun, and through the gloom
Let thy beaming vesture fall!
Bringing music, joy and bloom,
Spread thy mantle o’er us all.
What were there on earth to love—
What were beauteous, bright, or dear,
Wert thou not so true above,
And thy holy influence here?
[MY ROSE TREE.]
Rose tree, O! my beauteous rose tree,
Often have I longed to know
How thy tender leaves were moulded—
How thy buds are burst, and blow.
I have watered, sunned, and trained thee,
And have watched thee many an hour,
Yet I never could discover
How a bud becomes a flower.
So, last night I thought about thee
On my pillow, till, at last,
I was gone in quiet slumber;
And a dream before me passed.
In it, I beheld my rose tree
Stripped of flower, and bud and leaf;
While thy naked stalk and branches
Filled me with surprise and grief.