FLUTTERED WINGS.
363
The weeping willow shook its head
And stretched its shadow long;
The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red,
The birds forbore a song.
And stretched its shadow long;
The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red,
The birds forbore a song.
Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves,
The ripple made a moan,
The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves;
And then I felt alone.
The ripple made a moan,
The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves;
And then I felt alone.
I rose to go, and felt the chill,
And shivered as I went;
Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still,
What more that willow meant;
And shivered as I went;
Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still,
What more that willow meant;
That silvery weeping willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Which spent one long day overshadowing me
Beside a spring in Spring.
With all leaves shivering,
Which spent one long day overshadowing me
Beside a spring in Spring.
FLUTTERED WINGS.
THE splendour of the kindling day.
The splendour of the setting sun,
These move my soul to wend its way,
And have done
With all we grasp and toil amongst and say.
The splendour of the setting sun,
These move my soul to wend its way,
And have done
With all we grasp and toil amongst and say.
