To autumn's frost the
summer passed
Each day dawned darker than the last;
Flowers failed and shadows grew
In heart that hope, unquenched, once knew.
Sorrowed head, now bowed and afraid,
Slowly made its careful way
Out of halls where hearts, full and whole,
Sought ever vainly his loss to console.
In lonely glory stood his tree,
A remnant of once fair memory;
And beneath its gold he poured his grief,
Without restraint, without relief.
Then, though the wind in stillness lay,
Bright boughs began to quake, to sway,
As, in a place far past his view,
Through breaking heart a tempest blew.
One leaf released, its hold grown weak,
And falling, kissed his tear-stained cheek;
One gently tugging gust of air
Rustled through his soft brown hair.
Entranced, turned his wondering gaze
Into the west, past end of days
For great heart felt near-quenched hope stir,
Eyes so virid, heart so pure