The golden trumpets of the daffodils Shall wake again the wonder that has lain Quiescent in this time of earthly ills, Death and unimaginable pain.
Spring shall come with all its cleansing rites To sweep the sorrow from this house of woe, Unwelcome visitant of days and nights Who blocks the road on which my soul must go
That I may see all happenings as grace; For nothing that we love shall ere depart. I look upon the beauty of a face Long known within the chamber of my heart.
Poems Undated (1727)
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