A Winter Walk

WE never had believed, I wis,

At primrose time when west winds stole

Like thoughts of youth across the soul,

In such an altered time as this,

When if one little flower did peep

Up through the brown and sullen grass,

We should just look on it, and pass

As if we saw it in our sleep.

Feeling as sure as that this ray

Which cottage children call the sun,

Colors the pale clouds one by one,--

Our touch would make it drop to clay.

We never could have looked, in prime

Of April, or when July trees

Shook full-leaved in the evening bree

Upon the face of this pale time,

Still, soft, familiar; shining bleak

On naked branches, sodden ground,

Yet shining--as if one had found

A smile upon a dead friend's cheek,

Or old friend, lost for years, had strange

In altered mien come sudden back,

Confronting us with our great lack--

Till loss seemed far less sad than change.

Yet though, alas! Hope did not see

This winter skeleton through full leaves,

Out of all bareness Faith perceives

Possible life in field and tree.

In bough and trunk the sap will move,

And the mould break o'er springing flowers;

Nature revives with all her powers,

But only nature;--never love.

So, listlessly with linkèd hands

Both Faith and Hope glide soft away;

While in long shadows, cool and gray,

The sun sets o'er the barren lands.