The Wind blows happily on every thing

The wind blows happily on every thing
The very weeds that shake beside the fold
Bowing they dance—do any thing but sing
& all the scene is lovely to behold
Blue mists of morning evenings of gold
How beautifull the wind will play with spring
Flowers beam with every colour light beholds
Showers oer the Landscape flye on wet pearl wings
& winds stir up unnumbered pleasant things.

I love the luscious green before the bloom
The leaves & grass & even beds of moss
When leaves gin bud & spring prepares to come
The Ivys evergreen the brown green gorse
Plots of green weeds that barest roads engross
In fact I love the youth of each green thing
The grass the trees the bushes & the moss
That pleases little birds & makes them sing
I love the green before the blooms of spring.

Sorrow is felt not seen—the grief of verse
Is writ by those who share not in our pain
The pawl embrodered & the sable hearse
Are symbols not of sorrow but of gain
What of the scutcheoned hearse & pawl remain
When all is past—there sorrow is no more
Sorrows heart aches—& burning scars will stain
As morning dews—as april showers is oer
Some tears fall on their graves again.
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