O June! forgive the long delay,
  My heart’s deceptive dream is o’er—­
  Where I believe I will adore,
Nor worship June, yet kneel to May.

SUNNY DAYS IN WINTER.

Summer is a glorious season
  Warm, and bright, and pleasant;
But the Past is not a reason
  To despise the Present. 
So while health can climb the mountain,
  And the log lights up the hall,
There are sunny days in Winter, after all!

Spring, no doubt, hath faded from us,
  Maiden-like in charms;
Summer, too, with all her promise,
  Perished in our arms. 
But the memory of the vanished,
  Whom our hearts recall,
Maketh sunny days in Winter, after all!

True, there’s scarce a flower that bloometh,
  All the best are dead;
But the wall-flower still perfumeth
  Yonder garden-bed. 
And the arbutus pearl-blossom’d
  Hangs its coral ball—­
There are sunny days in Winter, after all!

Summer trees are pretty,—­very,
  And love them well: 
But this holly’s glistening berry,
  None of those excel. 
While the fir can warm the landscape,
  And the ivy clothes the wall,
There are sunny days in Winter, after all!

Sunny hours in every season
  Wait the innocent—­
Those who taste with love and reason
  What their God hath sent. 
Those who neither soar too highly,
  Nor too lowly fall,
Feel the sunny days of Winter, after all!

Then, although our darling treasures
  Vanish from the heart;
Then, although our once-loved pleasures
  One by one depart;
Though the tomb looms in the distance,
  And the mourning pall,
There is sunshine, and no Winter, after all!

THE BIRTH OF THE SPRING.

O Kathleen, my darling, I’ve dreamt such a dream,
’Tis as hopeful and bright as the summer’s first beam: 
I dreamt that the World, like yourself, darling dear,
Had presented a son to the happy New Year! 
Like yourself, too, the poor mother suffered awhile,
But like yours was the joy, at her baby’s first smile,
When the tender nurse, Nature, quick hastened to fling
Her sun-mantle round, as she fondled the spring.

O Kathleen, ’twas strange how the elements all,
With their friendly regards, condescended to call: 
The rough rains of winter like summer-dews fell,
And the North-wind said, zephyr-like:  “Is the World well?”
And the streams ran quick-sparkling to tell o’er the earth
God’s goodness to man in this mystical birth;
For a Son of this World, and an heir to the King
Who rules over man, is this beautiful Spring!

O Kathleen, methought, when the bright babe was born,
More lovely than morning appeared the bright morn;
The birds sang more sweetly, the grass greener grew,
And with buds and with blossoms the old trees looked new;
And methought when the Priest of the Universe came—­
The Sun—­in his vestments of glory and flame,
He was seen, the warm raindrops of April to fling
On the brow of the babe, and baptise him The Spring!