The waves come galloping up the shore,

The trees are flinging their arms about.

All night I have heard the wind’s loud roar,

And the surf call back with angry shout.

And after the wind a grieving rain

Comes sighing and sobbing past my door,

“The summer flowers I seek in vain,

Is my work of love forever o’er?”

One day ago and a soft sun shone,

Butterflies flitted through quiet air,

But now both they and the birds are gone

And soon will the trees be stripped and bare.

Though winds blow cold and the skies are gray,

The sun of summer still shines for me,

For naught can drive from my heart away,

The memory of bird and flower and tree.

Grace Wickham Curran.