Beechenbrook

There is sorrow in Beechenbrook Cottage; the day Has been bright with the earliest glory of May; The blue of the sky is as tender a blue As ever the sunshine came shimmering through: The songs of the birds and the hum of the bees, As they merrily dart in and out of the trees,- The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows, It mingles its odors with hawthorn and rose,- The voice of the brook, as it lapses unseen,- The laughter of children at play on the green,- Insist on a picture so...
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There is sorrow in Beechenbrook Cottage; the day Has been bright with the earliest glory of May; The blue of the sky is as tender a blue As ever the sunshine came shimmering through: The songs of the birds and the hum of the bees, As they merrily dart in and out of the trees,- The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows, It mingles its odors with hawthorn and rose,- The voice of the brook, as it lapses unseen,- The laughter of children at play on the green,- Insist on a picture so cheerful, so fair, Who ever would dream that a grief could be there!