The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly Magazine, January 1844. Various

      Thou comest not when violets lean

      O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen,

      Or columbines, in purple dressed,

      Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest.

      Thou waitest late, and com’st alone,

      When woods are bare and birds are flown,

      And frosts and shortening days portend

      The aged year is near his end.

      Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye

      Look through its fringes to the sky,

      Blue—blue—as if that sky let fall

      A flower from its cerulean wall.

      I would that thus, when I shall see

      The hour of death draw near to me,

      Hope, blossoming within my heart,

      May look to heaven as I depart.