  Now in the frozen gloom I trace thy girth, Broad beech, that with lit leaves upon a day When heaven was wide and down the meadow May Moved bride-like, touched my forehead in sweet mirth, And blissful secrets told of the deep Earth, Low in mine ear; wherefore this eve I lay My hand thus close till stirrings faint bewray Thy piteous secrets of the days of dearth, Silence! yet to my heart from thine has passed Divine contentment; it is well with thee; Still let the stars slide o’er thee whispering fate, The might be in thee of the shouldering blast, Still let fire-fingered snow thy tiremaid be, Still bearing springtime in thy bosom wait. |
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