Classic Poem

It will not stay! the robe so pearly white,
Which fell in folds on nature's bosom bare,
And sparkled in the winter moonbeams' light,
A vesture such as sainted spirits wear;
It will not stay! Look, from the open plain,
It melts beneath the glance of April's sun;
Nor can the rock's cool shade the snow detain,
It feeds the brooks, which down the hill-side run.
Why should it linger? Many-tinted flowers
And the green grass its place will quickly fill,
And, with new life, from sun and kindly showers,
With beauty deck the meadow and the hill;
Till we regret to see the earth resume
This snowy mantle for her robe of bloom.