Allan Cunningham

(7 December 1784 - 30 October 1842 / Dalswinton, Scotland)

The Spring Of The Year - Poem by Allan Cunningham

GONE were but the winter cold,
   And gone were but the snow,
I could sleep in the wild woods
   Where primroses blow.

Cold 's the snow at my head,
   And cold at my feet;
And the finger of death 's at my e'en,
   Closing them to sleep.

Let none tell my father
   Or my mother so dear,--
I'll meet them both in heaven
   At the spring of the year.


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Read poems about / on: snow, sleep, winter, father, spring, mother, heaven, death



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003



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