Poetry
... vatrt1I CLOUDS AND THEIR SILVER LININGS. DEAD LEAVES, but yesterday, along the lane Were rustling drearily, or soddened lay In drifted heaps around; as ii in pain, The Earth's old face grew furrowed with decay. T'e orchard boughs with brittle moss were wrapped, The ruby berries withered on the thorn, With clogging snows the village roofs were capped, The mill-wheels tast in ice were yester ...