V.

I want nothing of the World's loveless gifts,
When time and time again I, searching, see
That all I long to hold just moves and shifts
And ne'er becomes what I wish it to be.
My friend, are we to carry on like this?
With heaving weight of weariness and woe?
Or is it but my own sole fate to miss
The days when, in the sun, my heart would grow?
These eyes are dimmed now; empty hands still grasp
At shadows numberless and vastly ranged
O'er the path to the Precipice----I gasp!
I cannot know myself, as I have changed;
Ah, but change e'er the Seasons softly will,
And bring my heart from Spring to Winter still.

IV.

Green hills of Rutland County, under snow
You lie and lately freeze; your farms of frost
And lonely roads all speak of someplace lost---
Green hills, white hills, O how I long to go!
A late sun slants across your back, a bow
Of gold resplendent; ground-ward, light be tossed
And scattered o'er the freezing hills, and crossed
Beneath the trembled bowers hanging low.

When summer dusts the forests green and brown,
I will remember then when you were white,
Night-glinted by the moon, and shuttered down;
Or when, over the snow, a waning light
Would linger yet, and on me place its crown
Of ice and gold, so beautiful and bright!