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The vivid grass with visible delight

Springing triumphant from the pregnant earth,

The butterflies, and sparrows in brief flight

Chirping and dancing for the season's birth,

The dandelions and rare daffodils

That touch the deep-stirred heart with hands of gold,

The thrushes sending forth their joyous trills,—

Not these, not these did I at first behold!

But seated on the benches daubed with green,

The castaways of life, a few asleep,

Some withered women desolate and mean,

And over all, life's shadows dark and deep.

Moaning I turned away, for misery

I have the strength to bear but not to see.