Review And Telegraph

ORIGINAL POETRY.

CLOSING DAYS OF WINTER

Thou forerunner of fairer days!
Why is a gloom upon my ardent spirit?
Is't destiny that we must e'er inherit
Our joys from sorrows' laws?

Thou art gloomy, and sad,—there seems
An added loneliness to make more deep
The oppressive shadows that upon thee sleep
In clouds and misty dreams.

Thou roll'st thy sullen way
In melancholy, drooping, dark and slow,
As bearing but portentous sign of woe,
Each long successive day.

I would that thou wert past,
And clouds more restive, streaming o'er the sky—
Winter or summer, 'tis all one—the eye
Delights even in the blast.

We love thee not—and yet—
So strange is nature—but we almost cherish
Thy care-worn listless form—and when it perish,
For thee may flow regret.

But light and life will rise
In the loved flower, and in the bird of spring;
And joy and mirth will soar on lighted wing
In purer, sunnier skies.

Thou wilt then be forgot!
But we will ne'er thee blame—thine office done.
Thou, in thine own deep home—oblivion,
Wilt us remember not.

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