THE OPTIMIST

The fields were bleak and sodden.

Not a wing

Or note enlivened the depressing wood;

A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood

Beside the roadway. Winds came muttering

Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting

Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle mooed

Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth's green food.

No gleam, no hint of hope in anything.

The sky was blank and ashen, like the face

Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too fast

Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling

About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace,

Smiling with promise in the wintry blast,

The optimistic Willow spoke of spring.