A Dream of Summer
by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

Bland as the morning breath of June
      The southwest breezes play;
And, through its haze, the winter noon
      Seems warm as summer’s day.
The snow-plumed Angel of the North
      Has dropped his icy spear;
Again the mossy earth looks forth,
      Again the streams gush clear.

The fox his hillside cell forsakes,
      The muskrat leaves his nook,
The bluebird in the meadow brakes
      Is singing with the brook.
“Bear up, O Mother Nature!” cry
      Bird, breeze, and streamlet free;
“Our winter voices prophesy
      Of summer days to thee!”

So, in those winters of the soul,
      By bitter blasts and drear
O’erswept from Memory’s frozen pole,
      Will sunny days appear.
Reviving Hope and Faith, they show
      The soul its living powers,
And how beneath the winter’s snow
      Lie germs of summer flowers!

The Night is mother of the Day,
      The Winter of the Spring,
And ever upon old Decay
      The greenest mosses cling.
Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,
      Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all His works,
      Has left His hope with all!

Views: 0