Page:Leaves on the tide and other poems.djvu/24

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apple tree, dead long ago

To further hope of pink and snow,—

Lone sorrow of the wayside there,

An empty nest its only care,—

Spring, in a rapture after rain,

Kissed partly into bloom again.

So have we known a melody

Come in a dream from buried days;

So have we seen a life grow sweet

With blossom after barren Mays.

It seems there is not anything

Beyond the chance of blossoming,

Nor any day too dead to be

A better day in memory,

Nor any life—the barrenest—

But hath some dear, old, empty nest.