  he leaves are fading and falling, The winds are rough and wild, The birds have ceased their calling, But let me tell you, my child, Though day by day, as it closes, Doth darker and colder grow, The roots of the bright red roses Will keep alive in the snow. And when the winter is over, The boughs will get new leaves, The quail come back to the clover, And the swallow back to the eaves. The robin will wear on his bosom A vest that is bright and new, And the loveliest wayside blossom Will shine with the sun and dew. So, when some dear joy loses Its beauteous summer glow, Think how the roots of the roses Are kept alive in the snow. —Alice Cary. |
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