The Arbour
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- I'll rest me in this sheltered bower,
- And look upon the clear blue sky
- That smiles upon me through the trees,
- Which stand so thick clustering by;
- And view their green and glossy leaves,
- All glistening in the sunshine fair;
- And list the rustling of their boughs,
- So softly whispering through the air.
- And while my ear drinks in the sound,
- My winged soul shall fly away;
- Reviewing lone departed years
- As one mild, beaming, autumn day;
- And soaring on to future scenes,
- Like hills and woods, and valleys green,
- All basking in the summer's sun,
- But distant still, and dimly seen.
- Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath
- That gently shakes the rustling trees--
- But look! the snow is on the ground--
- How can I think of scenes like these?
- 'Tis but the FROST that clears the air,
- And gives the sky that lovely blue;
- They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun,
- Those evergreens of sombre hue.
- And winter's chill is on my heart--
- How can I dream of future bliss?
- How can my spirit soar away,
- Confined by such a chain as this?
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