Full of beautiful blossoms
Stood the tree in early May:
Came a chilly gale from the sunset,
And blew the blossoms away,--
Scattered them, through the garden,
Tossed them into the mere:
The sad tree moaned and shuddered,
"Alas! the fall is here."
But all through the glowing summer
The blossomless tree throve fair,
And the fruit waxed ripe and mellow,
With sunny rain and air;
And when the dim October
With golden death was crowned,
Under its heavy branches
The tree stooped to the ground.
In youth there comes a west wind
Blowing our bloom away,--
A chilly breath of Autumn
Out of the lips of May.
We bear the ripe fruit after,--
Ah, me! for the thought of pain!--
We know the sweetness and beauty
And the heart-bloom never again.