The Bud

A poem by Joseph Horatio Chant

The winter through I lay asleep,
Unconscious and unseen;
The howling winds disturbed me not,
Nor felt the frost tho' keen.
Thick blankets covered me about,
And kept me dry and warm,
And weeks and months passed quickly by
And I received no harm.
At last I felt uneasy in
My cosy little cot,
Tho' it was lined with softest down.
The cause I knew not what.
I struggled hard to free myself,
But struggled all in vain;
My blankets felt the strain, 'tis true,
And opened to the rain,
But just enough for me to see
The frowning sky o'erhead;
I closed my eyes, in sad affright,
And wished that I was dead.

But soon a change came o'er my frame,
Much like electric shock;
Oh, how I longed for some rare key
With which I might unlock
My prison door, for I now felt
The breath of coming Spring,
And heard, likewise, her merry laugh,
Like silver bells its ring.
My lips were close to blanket rent,
I ceased my useless strife,
And she bent over me in love,
And kissed me into life.

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