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the seasons in italy—spring.
The rustle of the young green corn,
Rich promise of its golden sheaves.
Rich promise of its golden sheaves.
IV.
A full vibration, as of bells
Which echo sweetly o'er the earth,
And bear through furthest loveliest dells
The message of the violet's birth.
Which echo sweetly o'er the earth,
And bear through furthest loveliest dells
The message of the violet's birth.
V.
All this I feel, all this I hear;
Without the world is fair and bright;
Within each bitter falling tear
Reveals how dark my winter night.
Without the world is fair and bright;
Within each bitter falling tear
Reveals how dark my winter night.
VI.
Frozen and dead, poor heart of mine!
Canst thou not melt? must thou still sigh?
Nor wreathe the rose, nor drink the wine,
Nor put thy mourning garments by?
Canst thou not melt? must thou still sigh?
Nor wreathe the rose, nor drink the wine,
Nor put thy mourning garments by?
VII.
Alas! for thee earth's joys are vain;
Alas! for thee earth's spring is o'er;
Alas! for thee earth's spring is o'er;
