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2
LEAVES ON THE TIDE
II
AFTER BARREN MAYS
An 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.
