WORDS.

When violets were springing

And sunshine filled the day,

And happy birds were singing

The praises of the May,

A word came to me, blighting

The beauty of the scene,

And in my heart was winter,

Though all the trees were green.

Now down the blast go sailing

The dead leaves, brown and sere;

The forests are bewailing

The dying of the year;

A word comes to me, lighting

With rapture all the air,

And in my heart is summer,

Though all the trees are bare.