The Tree's Prayer

Alas, 'tis cold and dark!     The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune!     Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon     Beat, beat against my bark.     Oh! why delays the spring?     Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins;     Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains,     That I can hardly cling.     The sun shone yester-morn;     I felt the glow down every fibre float,     And thought I heard a thrush's piping note     Of dim dream-gladness born.     Then, on the salt gale driven,     The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms,     Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms,     And blotted out the heaven.     All night I brood and choose     Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June!     The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon     The slow baptizing dews!     Oh, the joy-frantic birds!--     They are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees!     Aha, the billowy odours! and the bees     That browse like scattered herds!     The comfort-whispering showers     That thrill with gratefulness my youngest shoot!     The children playing round my deep-sunk root,     Green-caved from burning hours!     See, see the heartless dawn,     With naked, chilly arms latticed across!     Another weary day of moaning loss     On the thin-shadowed lawn!     But icy winter's past;     Yea, climbing suns persuade the relenting wind:     I will endure with steadfast, patient mind;     My leaves will come at last!