 | Sursum Corda |  |
89
A DEAD TREE.
The field with buttercups is cloth-of-gold
Beneath the burning blue;
The tender tree-tops their last leaves unfold,
And find their dreams are true.
Beneath the burning blue;
The tender tree-tops their last leaves unfold,
And find their dreams are true.
Yes, it is summer in the land, and all
The flowers and birds rejoice.
Ah, that my heart could hearken to the call—
Put forth a leaf or voice!
The flowers and birds rejoice.
Ah, that my heart could hearken to the call—
Put forth a leaf or voice!
Still like a bare dead tree my thought that grew
Stands changeless and the same;
No more can quickening fancies clothe anew
As with fresh leaves the frame.
Stands changeless and the same;
No more can quickening fancies clothe anew
As with fresh leaves the frame.
90
“Love lost, joy vanished—what is thy distress?”
Nay, ask not! God alone
Knows, and the heart knows its own bitterness,
And each must bear its own.
Nay, ask not! God alone
Knows, and the heart knows its own bitterness,
And each must bear its own.
| Sursum Corda | |