293 
Thou wast not born when merry May 
“ Hangs out the virgin flag of spring,” 
When birds from every bush and spray 
Are caroling. 
Thou wast not born when summer throws 
Her glory over sky and earth, 
Nor did the beam which wakes the rose 
Smile on thy birth. 
No; like this shrub which cheers the bower. 
What time the threatening storm is rife, 
A blessing for the wintry hour 
Thou sprang to life. 
And such art still — no summer friend, 
Breathing smooth things in Pleasure’s ear; 
But, oh ! let grief the spirit rend, 
And thou art near. 
Then takes thy voice its softest tone, 
Then is thy hand upraised to bless, 
And then the tender warmth is known 
Of thy caress. 
u 3 
