(_In the South_)
On the gray outside of the year
Fluttered its leaves of cheer;
They reached to my winter window
And I thought that spring was here.
They reached out mistily
When dawn was on the tree,
But through the rainy mornings
How bright they gleamed and clear.
When other trees are bare
Oak banners glad the air,
And through the Southern summer
Its branches great and fair.
In all their splendid strength,
To all their living length,
Emparadise in shadow
The meadows everywhere.
_Ethelwyn Witherald, Canada._
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