Its silent thought went leaping

To where in woods of yore

It felt the sun before.

At noon the rain was slanting

In gray lines from the west;

A hurried child all panting

It pattered to my nest,

And smiled when sun-caressed.

At eve the wind was flying

Bird-like from bed to chair,

Of brown leaves sere and dying

It brought enough to spare,

And dropped them here and there.

At night-time without warning,

I felt almost to pain

The soul of the sun in the morning,

And the soul of the wind and rain

In my sleeping-room remain.

{20}

{20}

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