A Vision

WITHIN the breast of winter
A spring thought stirs to-day.
The sailless fleet upon the lake
Will all its anchors weigh,
And, white before the gentle wind,
Float down the great blue bay.

Through all the dead trees’ branches
The happy secret thrills;
A sudden memory of flowers
The wild wood hollows fills,
Though yet a solemn silence seals
The lips of these white hills.

Again quick life is beating,
With sudden hope and power.
It matters not that joy must die
Within this one bright hour,
Quick fleeting as the glory born
Of meeting sun and shower.

The icy squadron whitens
The water’s blue in vain,
And days of wintry storm deny
The promise of the rain:
The heart that once has dreamed of spring
Cannot grow cold again.