html website builder

A little nook, a barren nook,
Lowest and darkest in the hollow,
Where never sunbeam came to look,
Forsaken of the willful brook
That turned aside to follow
Where the first faint April sun
Through greening meadows let it run.

 

On the happier slopes anigh
I watched the sunlight flickering,
And heard the lonely hollow sigh
(Was it my own heart's murmuring?),
"I am forgotten of the spring,
Now will the earth grow warm and light,
I can hear through all the night
The buds awake in the trees above,
For they think the birds are on their flight
Back to the nests they love.

 

"Trees are stately things," it said,
"What they cover, who should know?
They will take on their glorious heads
All the bounty the heaven sheds,
And grandly they will spread and grow,
When the hill-side is daisied white,
And the summer is perfect quite,
I shall be silent, and mute, and lone,
Never a thing to call my own
Of all the summer's green and white.

 

"Poor little lonely nook!" I said,
"Alas! for things that are overgrown,
Alas! for things that were only made
To live in a royal beauty's shade,
And not for any of their own!
Sad fate that lesser lives must bear--
To that which hath is the double share."

 

Ah, subtle heart, that so will feign
Shape to an unwanted regret,
Pitying self by another name,
Did ever hollow so complain?
Did ever Nature so forget?
When I followed the brook again,
Nor leaves nor buds were open yet,
But in the spot so lone and bare
Lo! the spring's first flower was there!