Pressed hard and heavy on my heart;
Yet still with words of hope and cheer
I bade the gathering grief depart,
Saying,—"When next these purple bells
And these red columbines return,—
When woods are full of piny smells,
And this faint fragrance of the fern,—
"When the wild white-weed's bright surprise
Looks up from all the strawberried plain,
Like thousands of astonished eyes,—