Embers

I said, “My youth is gone

Like a fire beaten out by the rain,

That will never sway and sing

Or play with the wind again.”

I said, “It is no great sorrow

That quenched my youth in me,

But only little sorrows

Beating ceaselessly.”

I thought my youth was gone,

But you returned —

Like a flame at the call of the wind

It leaped and burned;

Threw off its ashen cloak,

And gowned anew

Gave itself like a bride

Once more to you.