window-pane

At nightfall, under sleet and rain

Saw the old graybeard totter by?

Who listened to his parting sigh,

The sobbing of his feeble breath,

His whispered colloquy with Death,

And when his all of life was done

Stood near to bid a last good-bye?

Of all his former friends not one

Saw the forsaken Winter die.

 Who welcomed in the maiden Spring? Who heard her footfall, swift and light As fairy-dancing in the night? Who guessed what happy dawn would bring The flutter of her bluebird's wing, The blossom of her mayflower-face To brighten every shady place? One morning, down the village street, “Oh, here am I,” we heard her sing,— And none had been awake to greet The coming of the maiden Spring.

Who welcomed in the maiden Spring?

Who heard her footfall, swift and light

As fairy-dancing in the night?

Who guessed what happy dawn would bring

The flutter of her bluebird's wing,

The blossom of her mayflower-face

To brighten every shady place?

One morning, down the village street,

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