The Willow.

A song for the willow, the wild weeping willow,             That murmurs a dirge to the rapturous days,         And moans when the kiss of the breeze laden billow             Entangles and dangles among the sad sprays!         A musical ditty to scatter the sadness,             A warble of wildness to banish its tears,         Till tremulous measures of bountiful gladness             Be sounding and bounding through all of the years.         The beautiful brooks, as they waken from slumbers,             Pause under the shadows that fall from the boughs,         And weave their caresses in passionate numbers,             While soothing and smoothing the frowns from its brows;         But chained in the desolate sorrows of weeping             Its heart never warms to the raptures of mirth,         And over its bosom no pleasures are creeping             While wending and blending their joys with the earth.         Then sing for the willow, the wild weeping willow,             That droops in the smiles of the summer-born times,         And mourns in the kiss of the sweet-scented billow,             When beaming and gleaming are dripping with chimes!         While melodies move where their happiness lingers,             They surely will gladden the tear-laden sprays,         And music that flutters from fairy-like fingers             Will lighten and brighten the burdensome days.