Of autumn through the forests had gone by,
And the rich maple o’er her wanderings lone
Its crimson leaves in many a shower had strown,
Flushing the air; and winter’s blast had been
Amidst the pines; and now a softer green
Fringed their dark boughs: for spring again had come,
The sunny spring! but Edith to her home
Was journeying fast. Alas! we think it sad
To part with life when all the earth looks glad
In her young lovely things—when voices break