 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
96
OF ALL THE YEAR.
Nora and I in the sunlight basked
When the woods were in crimson drest.
“Of all the times of the year,” she asked,
“Which is the gladdest?
Which is the saddest?
And which do you love the best?”
When the woods were in crimson drest.
“Of all the times of the year,” she asked,
“Which is the gladdest?
Which is the saddest?
And which do you love the best?”
I looked in her face with a yearning pain
While I answered, as half in jest,
“Of all the seasons, in shine or rain,
This is the saddest,
This is the gladdest,
And this do I love the best.”
While I answered, as half in jest,
“Of all the seasons, in shine or rain,
This is the saddest,
This is the gladdest,
And this do I love the best.”
“Stupid!” she cried in her laughing voice:
“Of spring, summer, winter, or fall,
There surely is more than a single choice;
To me, one is saddest,
Another is gladdest,
And one is the dearest of all.”
“Of spring, summer, winter, or fall,
There surely is more than a single choice;
97
Another is gladdest,
And one is the dearest of all.”
Still I declared that, ask when she would,
Though 't were winter or spring or the rest,
With her by my side, but one answer seemed good:
That would be gladdest,
That would be saddest,
That season sweetest and best.
Though 't were winter or spring or the rest,
With her by my side, but one answer seemed good:
That would be gladdest,
That would be saddest,
That season sweetest and best.
“Why, what could it have to be saddest about?”
She asked, with a smile at it all.
So I told her at once of my pain and doubt,
And lo! both our secrets came creeping out
In the glory and shade of the fall.
And nevermore saddest,
But holiest, gladdest,
We found the best season of all!
She asked, with a smile at it all.
So I told her at once of my pain and doubt,
And lo! both our secrets came creeping out
In the glory and shade of the fall.
And nevermore saddest,
But holiest, gladdest,
We found the best season of all!
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |