THE dogwood has its bloom again; Each blade of grass out in the lane A little scentless bud doth bear; The shriveled shrubs to left and right Let loose a myriad petals light To every breath that stirs the air. Still as in June its briers beneath The meadow brook shows its white teeth. Remembering June, the wild rose-bush Holds still a berry here and there, Setting the blackened twigs aflare With scarlet in the frosty hush. Long are the hours from dusk to dawn; From dawn to dusk -- ah, too soon gone! Lo, when the brief day sinks to rest, Then bough by bough, like bone by bone, The naked trees stand out alone Against the keen gold of the west! |