74
WITHOUT AND WITHIN.
Now in the dim December night
The bare trees shiver in icy mail,
And under the spectral moonbeams' light,
The snow wreaths shine on the frozen vale;—
Cold is the blast of the north-wind's breath,
But these are the words my thought would spin,—
"The earth lies still in the garb of death,
But O! 't is summer my heart within."
The bare trees shiver in icy mail,
And under the spectral moonbeams' light,
The snow wreaths shine on the frozen vale;—
Cold is the blast of the north-wind's breath,
But these are the words my thought would spin,—
"The earth lies still in the garb of death,
But O! 't is summer my heart within."
There is a heart beats close to mine
Come to me out of the land beyond;
There are dear eyes whose glances shine,
There is a hand clasp close and fond.
Winds may whistle and tempests roar,
None to my heart can enter in;
Here in the twilight I sing once more,
"'T is winter without, but summer within."
Come to me out of the land beyond;
There are dear eyes whose glances shine,
There is a hand clasp close and fond.
Winds may whistle and tempests roar,
None to my heart can enter in;
Here in the twilight I sing once more,
"'T is winter without, but summer within."
