The drifted snow, in foldings deep,
Old Winter soon shall bring;
Our dainty flowers will go to sleep
And will not wake till Spring.
The soft blue sky he’ll turn to gray,
The blossoms make to fall;
Then shall he steal them quite away,
And we forget them all?
Nay! even tho’ his touch shall bring
The frost, the chill, the snow,
In memory still the birds shall sing
And still the flowers blow!
The purple pansies one by one,
Shall lift their fragrant heads,
And cooled by rain and kissed by sun
Shall light the garden beds.
The summer sunlight still shall stream,
The roses deeper glow,
The warm nasturtiums brightly beam,
And fainting breezes blow.
The tulips still shall flaunt their fires,
Tho’ winter winds are high, –
What loving heart of beauty tires
In memory laid by!