An old man sat in his chimney-seat,
As the morning sunbeam crept to his feet;
And he watched the Spring light as it came
With wider ray on his window frame.
He looked right on to the Eastern sky,
But his breath grew long in a trembling sigh,
And those who heard it wondered much
What Spirit hand made him feel its touch.
For the old man was not one of the fair
And sensitive plants in earth’s parterre;