The roseate bell and the lily are there,

And every leaf of their sheaf is fair.

[10]

Careless and bold, without dream of woe,

The trilliums scatter their flags snow;

But the pale wood-daffodil covers her face,

Agloom with the doom of a sorrowful race.

THE RETURN OF THE YEAR

Again the warm bare earth, the noon

That hangs upon her healing scars,

The midnight round, the great red moon,

The mother with her brood of stars,

The mist-rack and the wakening rain

Blown soft in many a forest way,

The yellowing elm-trees, and again

The blood-root in its sheath of gray.

The vesper-sparrow's song, the stress

Of yearning notes that gush and stream,

The lyric joy, the tenderness,

And once again the dream! the dream!

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