Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/76
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THE NEW AND THE OLD.
New are the leaves on the oaken spray,
New the blades of the silky grass;
Flowers, that were buds but yesterday,
Peep from the ground where'er
New the blades of the silky grass;
Flowers, that were buds but yesterday,
Peep from the ground where'er
These gay idlers, the butterflies,
Broke, to-day, from their winter shroud,
These soft airs, that winnow the skies,
Blow, just born, from the soft, white cloud.
Broke, to-day, from their winter shroud,
These soft airs, that winnow the skies,
Blow, just born, from the soft, white cloud.
Gushing fresh in the little streams
What a prattle the waters make!
What a prattle the waters make!