Look out, sad heart, through wintry eyes
To see thy summer go:
How pallid are thy bluest skies
Behind this veiling snow.
Look out upon thy purple hills,
That all the summer long,
Laughed with an hundred laughing rills,
And sang their summer song.
You only see the sheeted snow
That covers grass and tree;
The frozen streamlets cannot flow,
No bird dares sing to thee.
Look out upon Life’s summer days
That fade like summer flowers;
What golden fruitage for thy praise,
From all those bounteous hours?
Sings any bird, or any wind
Amid thy falling leaves?
Why is it, if thou look’st behind,
Thy heart forever grieves?
Newburgh, January 4, 1854.