Where gleamed the ice-bound river, smooth and wide,
⁠I led her, o'er the crisp and sparkling snow.
⁠Then, while the frost-elves kissed a richer glow
To maiden cheeks, we floated, side by side,
Free as the winds, and swift as shadows glide,
⁠Down, down the broad, bright pathway.
⁠Borne on so, It were a joyous fate, it seemed, to go
Forever with her down that charmed tide.
But now the western clouds were fringed with flame;
⁠Above the pale hills hung the crescent moon;
⁠Stars through the deep-blue burned; and, as the day
To dusky twilight yielded, back we came,
⁠Across the numb and drowsy land, till soon
⁠We saw the home lights twinkling far away.

Fair Maid of February! — drop of snow
⁠Enchanted to a flow'r, and therewithin
⁠A dream of April green, — who without sin
Conceived wast, but how no man may know;
⁠I would thou mightest, being of heavenly kin,
Pray for us all (thy lips are pure, altho'
⁠The soil be soak'd with tears and blood), to win
Some pity somewhere for man's grievous woe.

A foolish phantasy and fond conceit!
⁠Yet mark this little white-green bell, three-cleft,
⁠And muse upon it. Earth is not bereft
Of miracles; lo, here is one complete:
⁠And after this the whole new springtime left,
And all the roses that make summer sweet.

More sweet than smiles are tears which rise unbidden
⁠When some fair scene first dawns upon our eyes,
A gift of joy, by nature long kept hidden,
⁠That thrills us with the rapture of surprise.

But dearer yet and deeper is our feeling
⁠When some fair deed by one we love is wrought,
Some unexpected grace of soul revealing,
⁠The lovely blossom of some secret thought.

Oh! in those moments of divine emotion
⁠The darkening veil of doubt is rent apart;
More near us seems the God of our devotion,
⁠The heaven we hope for dwells within our heart.

How do the roses die?
⁠Do their leaves fall together,
Thrown down and scattered by the sky
⁠Of angry weather?
No, the sad thunderstroke
⁠O'ersweeps their lowly bower;
The storm that tramples on the oak
⁠Relents above the flower.

No violence makes them grieve,
⁠No wrath hath done them wrong,
When with sad secrecy they leave
⁠The branch to which they clung.
They yield them, one by one,
⁠To the light breeze and shower,
To the soft dew, cool shade, bright sun,
⁠Time and the hour.

The Sun cried to the laughing Sea,
⁠"Leave thy sweet wiling!
Hast thou no depths of love in thee,
⁠Too deep for smiling?"
But ever, till the day was done,
The Sea turned laughing to the Sun.

But in the darkness and the storm,
⁠Could he discover
What terrors toss, what fears deform H
⁠His laughing lover?
Oh! vainly love prays love be sad,
When his mere presence makes her glad.