The Spring of the Year
1784-1842
GONE were but the winter cold,
And gone were but the snow,
I could sleep in the wild woods
Where primroses blow.
Cold 's the snow at my head,
And cold at my feet;
And the finger of death 's at my e'en,
Closing them to sleep.
Let none tell my father
Or my mother so dear,--
I'll meet them both in heaven
At the spring of the year.
DayPoems Poem No. 543
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/543.html">The Spring of the Year by Allan Cunningham</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
Poets Poems