| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XXVI. Melancholy
First Snow | | By John Talon-Lespérance (1835–1891) |
| | | THE SUN burns pale and low | |
| Along the gloomy avenue of pines, | |
| And the grey mist hangs heavily in lines | |
| Above the torrent’s flow. | |
| |
| I hear, on the violet hill, | 5 |
| The caw of blackbirds fleeing from the cold; | |
| And buzz of insects, hiding in the mould, | |
| Under the ruined mill. | |
| |
| The deep embrownèd wood | |
| Is garlanded with wreaths of fleecy white; | 10 |
| And the stark poplar stands, a Northland sprite, | |
| Muffled in snowy hood. | |
| |
| Aye! but chief, on thy headstone, | |
| Who slept ’neath summer roses, cold flakes rest, | |
| And filter icy drops upon thy breast,— | 15 |
| Thy tender breast,—my own. | |
| |
| While on my drooping head— | |
| Yes, on my sunken heart, distils the snow, | |
| Chilling the warmth and life that in it glow, | |
| In pity for my dead! | 20 |
| |
| Not till the crocus bloom, | |
| And April rays have thawed the frost-bound slope, | |
| O Rita, shall this heart to light reope, | |
| With the flowers on thy tomb! | | | | |
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