124 AZALEAS. 



Roses' Song. 



" Softly sinking through the snow, 

 To our winter rest we go, 

 Onderneath the snow to house 

 Till the birds be in the boughs, 

 And the boughs with leaves be fair. 

 And the sun shine everywhere. 

 Softly through the snow we settle, 

 Little snow-drops press each petal. 

 Oh, the snow is kind and white — 

 Soft it is, and very light ; 

 Soon we shall be where no light is, 

 But where sleep is, and where night is — 

 Sleep of every wind unshaken, 

 Till our Summer bids us waken." 



Then toward some far-off goal that singing drew. 

 Then altogether ceased ; more steely blue 

 The blue stars shone, but in my spirit grew 



Hope of summer, love of roses. 



Certainty that sorrow closes. 



Philip Bourke Marston- 



