Beams from an opening in the shroud,
Which, like a dusky pall, o'erspreads
The azure vault above our heads.
Our fancy, while we gaze, takes wings
And flits around earth's brighter things,
Then whispers in our list'ning ears,
"This earth is not all sighs and tears."
This cloud is like the robin's song,
Whose notes were hushed all winter long,
But comes to usher in the hours,