Winter-Thought

The wind-swayed daisies, that on every side Throng the wide fields in whispering companies, Serene and gently smiling like the eyes Of tender children long beatified, The delicate thought-wrapped buttercups that glide Like sparks of fire above the wavering grass, And swing and toss with all the airs that pass, Yet seem so peaceful, so preoccupied; These are the emblems of pure pleasures flown, I scarce can think of pleasure without these. Even to dream of them is to disown The cold forlorn midwinter reveries, Lulled with the perfume of old hopes new-blown, No longer dreams, but dear realities.