Vain Dreams

The trees, my sisters, robed in white,

Now dream of spring;

Of sun-lit day and fragrant night,

Of birds that sing.

They little think that I can tell

About their pain;

They do not know I dream as well

A dream most vain.

[Pg 7]

[Pg 7]

 December

Beneath a shroud of unpolluted white,

The frozen hills lie silent and asleep;

And moveless spruce and ghostly birches keep

Their silent vigils through the endless night.

The frozen creeks, long voiceless, partly veiled

'Neath drifting snow, dream fondly of the trees;

Within the woods no bird's song and no breeze

Make wondrous music when the skies have paled.

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