There And Here

Hail and sleet in a winter land And a bleak sky overhead, Winds that sweep with a sullen roar Thru trees that are stark and dead; Winter rudely claiming his own With blustering, icy breath, Hushing the streams 'neath a mantle white In a sleep resembling death.

Long months locked in a dread embrace The flowers will lie asleep, Longing for Spring's returning steps And her call so low and sweet; The wrack of the storm will ride the sky, And the wind's loud trumpets blow, And the pulse of life beat sluggishly Neath a weight of ice and snow.

Now that is the way of a winter land; But here when the bright leaves die, The grey clouds gather in serried ranks, And soft winds whisper nigh; We hear the sound of the gentle rain, And the waiting earth is stirred ' By the laughing voices of new-born streams And the songs of the wildwood bird.

For that is the way of our summer land, By the waves of the sundown sea, Where nature dreams thru the cloud-hung days Of glories that are to be, Whire the young grass creeps o'er a thousand hills, At the south wind's low behest, And the sillken sheen of the poppy's gold Bejewels the warm earth's breast.