I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high:
I long to see a flower so before the day I die.
The building rook ’ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,
And the swallow ’ill come back again with summer o’er the wave,
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.
Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine,
In the early early morning the summer sun ’ill shine,
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,
When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still.