5.

Here where the days are dimmest,

Each old, big-hearted tree

Gives bounteous sympathy;

Here where dead nights sit grimmest

In druid company;

Here where the days are dimmest.

Leaves of my lone communion,

Leaves; and the listening sigh

Of silence wanders by;

While on my soul the union

Is — of the wood and sky —

Leaves of my lone communion.

And eyes with tears are aching,

While life waits wistfully

For love that may not be:

In visions vain of waking

Lives all it can not see.—

And eyes with tears are aching,

And eyes with tears are aching.