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80

THE TREES BESIDE THE OLD MANSE GATE.

The trees beside the old manse gate,
They twinkled in the sun;
The sky was blue, the air was balm,
The summer was begun.
They twinkled brightly in the sun,
They cast a chequer'd shade
Upon the gravel and the grass
Where little children play'd.
The trees beside the old manse gate
They were so very still;
The funeral of a little child
Pass'd dream-like up the hill.
Through the long summer afternoon
The summer glanced and gleam'd;
The trees beside the old manse gate
Stood silently and dream'd.
81

I stood at midnight on the hill,
The village slept below,—
The trees beside the old manse gate
Were rocking to and fro!
The trees beside the old manse gate,
They deck themselves in green,
And for their little playmate wait,
Who will no more be seen.
What will they see, the winter moons
That stare upon their woe?
The trees beside the old manse gate
Writing on the snow!
It was for that young buried child
They moan'd in every leaf;
They would not have the cheerful day
Look in upon their grief.
It is for that young vanish'd life
They write upon the snow;
They would not have the summer see
Their weakness and their woe!
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