Lake Lyrics and Other Poems

by William Wilfred Campbell


 

ON A MARCH MORNING


 

OUR elm is heavy with ice,
The mountain is his in a mist,
     And the heaven is gray
     Above, and away,
Where the vapors the hill-tops have kissed.
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The fields are bleak with patches of white,
Our stream is still shut in his prison
     Of ice and of snow,
     And the sun, half-aglow,
Scarce over the forest is risen.
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But there is something abroad in the air,
Perchance ’tis the spirit of spring,
     That fills me with fancies
     Of blue skies and pansies,
And songs that the meadow brooks sing.
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Some spirit the season has sent,
With visions of blossom and leaf,
     And song—as a token,
     Of feeling unspoken,
In this time of the aged winter’s grief.
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