The Iceberg and Other Poems

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

PROMISE


 

ERE the spring comes near
       Over the smoking hills,
       Stirring a million rills
To laughter low and clear
That the winds hush to hear,—
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Ere the eaves at noon
       Thaw and drip, there flies
       A Presence through the skies
With promise of the boon
Of birds and blossoms soon.
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Elusive though it be,
       Yet can I trust that word.—
       Even such my soul hath heard,
Athwart life’s wintry lea,
Of Immortality.
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