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Show THE SPELL OF A SPRING MORNING I sat, on the eve of springtime, With a bowed down, troubled head, I pondered, Is life worth living? Id as well be dead! The Winters long, And void of song Ah! lifes not joyus! I said. No! ! To bed I carried my glumness, And restlessly all might, I pondered on my unjust lot, Till the burst of morning light. When a merry trill Oer my window sill set Soon the world aright But still a murky shadow Was left of yesters gloom, And I rushed from the torturing shackles As if it were a tomb. Outside twas fair, No sorrow there, In the mornings rosy bloom The birds called welcomes of gladness, Sweet breezes fanned my face, The flowers were nodding their quiet delight With a dainty, rapturous grace, And far on high The deep, blue sky Smiled a radiance oer the place. I cast aside old worries, And caught the glad delight Of the outside world at morning, When natures heart beat light. I answered the song Of a lark, ere long, were cares of last night vanished And ! ! ! V. R. 23 |