By Charles Turner Dazey
O lonely day! No sounds are heard
Save winds and floods that downward pour,
And timid fluting of a bird,
That pipes one low note o’er and o’er.
Before the blast the bare trees lean,
The ragged clouds sail low and gray,
And all the wild and wintry scene
Is but one blur of driving spray.
And yet this dark and dreary day
Some brighter lesson still can bring,
For it is herald of the May,
A faint foretoken of the spring.
Beneath the ceaseless-beating rain
Earth’s snowy shroud fast disappears,
As sorrow pressing on the brain,
Fades in a flood of happy tears.
And thus in darkness oft is wrought,
Through lonely days of tears and grief,
The gradual change by which is brought
To shadowed lives some sweet relief.