166
RINGBARKED TIMBER
Into the dead wood rose the winey sap; Twigs on the bitten branch came thick and fast;And Youth was cuddled in the grey earth's lap, And barrenness was quick with life at last!
When the dawn winds, across the sapling track, Whisper a warning, and a whistling birdCalls to the dreams to lift their pedlar's pack: Once more the flitting of the leaves is heard.
And when the gold sun breaks along the East, Faintly it flushes, where the lonely boughsAre stripped again, like spendthrift from a feast, Beggared to pay for that one night's carouse.
But in the deep dark nights when no moon-sheen Pricks with fine needles through the brown earth's hem,Marking white bones where Tragedy has been, Forgotten leaves come rustling back to them!
