The sobbing winds of winter
Lingered sadly round the door,
Then ran in mystic meanings
Through the dark across the moor;
The window panes were streaming
With the tears which heaven wept,
And a mother sat a-dreaming
O'er an infant as it slept:
Its little hands were folded;
And its little eyes of blue
Were clothed in alabaster
With the azure peeping through:
Its face, so still and star-like,
Was as white as maiden snow:
And it breathed in faintest ripples,
As the wavelets come and go.
The morn in golden beauty
Through the lattice gaily peept,
But muffled was the window
Of the room where darling slept:
The mother's heart was breaking
Into tears like Summer cloud,
For a starry face was circled
With a little lily shroud;
And a soul from sunny features
Like a beam of light had fled:
Before her, like a snowdrop,
Her miracle lay dead!
Ah! 'Twas cruel thus to chasten,
Though her loss was darling's gain:
And her heart would rifle Heaven
Could she clasp her babe again.