Winter Days.

The birds have flown :1
Their barren nests are left alone,2
Clinging to leafless bush or wind-tossed tree,3
Mementoes mute of spring-time’s blue and green,4
Of fragrant orchards blossoming between5
Brown, sun-warmed walls,6
Of wide-swung doors and breezy halls,7
And flower-beds decked to lure the drowsy bee.8
But now, alas !9
The blighting frost is on the grass.10
Torn are the wither’d leaves from each loved tree:11
The brooks are still, the woodlands dim and cold,12
And harvest fields have yielded all their gold.13
O, swift-winged bird !14
To that bright land where now is heard15
Thy tuneful lay, I’d gladly follow thee.16