GLANCING in armor of crystal, Splendid in serried array, Blazing with marvellous beauty, Glittered the branches to-day,— Sheathed by invisible fingers, Sparkling with opaline spray. Bright, when the blossoms were weaving Spells for the wantoning bees; Rare, when the loves of the robins Quivered in song on the breeze; Never before such enchantment Wildered you, wonderful trees. What though the glory shall vanish Swift as the thought of a dream! Once to have worn it is rapture; Days that are coming shall seem Rich, for the memory of this one— Golden, triumphant, supreme! Over your boughs interlacing, Clear to the tiniest stem, Wavered the wand of the ice-king, Changing each drop to a gem,— Amethyst, topaz, and ruby, Fit for his own diadem. Crowned! yet all night were ye moaning; Wet with the rain, and forlorn,— Tossed in the whirl of the tempest, Weary and faint for the morn; Touched by the rhythm of sunlight Into what peace are ye borne! |