THIS morning, when the earth and sky Were burning with the blush of spring, I saw thee not, thou humble fly! Nor thought upon thy gleaming wing. But now the skies have lost their hue, And sunny lights no longer play, I see thee, and I bless thee too For sparkling o'er the dreary way. Oh! let me hope that thus for me, When life and love shall lose their bloom, Some milder joys may come, like thee, To light, if not to warm, the gloom! |