The Birds reported from the South-
A News express to Me-
A spicy Charge, My little Posts-
But I am deaf-Today-

The Flowers-appealed-a timid Throng-
I reinforced the Door-
Go blossom for the Bees-I said-
And trouble Me-no More-

The Summer Grace, for Notice strove-
Remote-Her best Array-
The Heart-to stimulate the Eye
Refused too utterly-

At length, a Mourner, like Myself,
She drew away austere-
Her frosts to ponder-then it was
I recollected Her-

She suffered Me, for I had mourned-
I offered Her no word-
My Witness-was the Crape I bore-
Her-Witness-was Her Dead-

Thenceforward-We-together dwelt-
I never questioned Her-
Our Contract
A Wiser Sympathy