  Between the roadside and the wood, Between the dawning and the dew, A tiny flower before the sun, Ephemeral in time, I grew. And there upon the trail of spring, Not death nor love nor any name Known among men in all their lands Could blur the wild desire with shame. The feet of straying winds came by; And all my trembling soul was thrilled To follow one lost mountain cry. And then my heart beat once and broke To hear the sweeping rain forebode Some ruin in the April world, Between the woodside and the road. To-night can bring no healing now; The calm of yesternight is gone; Surely the wind is but the wind, And I a broken waif thereon.
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