266 LAY OP THE BOSK. 



Whereat the earth did seem 



To waken from a dream, 

 Winter frozen, winter frozen, 

 Her anguish eyes unclosing. 



Said to the rose, a Ha, Snow ! 



And art thou fallen so ? 

 Thou who wert enthroned stately 

 Along my mountains lately. 



( Holla, thou world-wide snow 



And art thou wasted so ? 

 With a little bough to catch thee 

 And a little bee to watch thee ?" 



Poor rose, to be misknown ! 



Would she had ne'er been blown, 

 In her loneness, in her loneness, 

 All the the sadder for that oneness. 



Some words she tried to say, 



Some sigh ah, well away ! 

 But the passion did o'ercome her, 

 And the fair frail leaves dropp'd from her* 



