he ironies of Fate!
Born a tree; with branches oaken
Dear unspoken intimate.

Who may say that man has never
Lived the mighty hearts of trees?
Graduating Godward ever,
The Forever finds through these?

Colors, we have lived, are cherished;
Odors, we have been, are ours;
Entity alone has perished;
Beauty-nourished souls were flowers.

Music, when the fancy guesses,
Lifts us loftier thoughts among;
Spirit that the flesh distresses,
But expresses self with song....

Heaven in darkness bends upbraiding
Without moonlight, without star;
Darkness and the reason aiding,
All but fading phantoms are.

Still philosophy is saying:
"Now that hope with life seems gone,
Some are cursing, some are praying,
God smiles raying in the dawn!"

5.

Wild weather; the whip of the sleet
On the shuttered casement tapping;
A shadow from face to feet,
Like a shroud, my spirit wrapping,

Wild weather; and how is she
Now the sting of the storm beats serried,
Over the stone and the tree
Of the grave where she is buried?

Wild weather; I cannot weep--
But the skies weep on and worry;
So I sleep, and dream in my sleep
How I hear dim garments hurry....

Star weather and footsteps of stars;
And I see white raiment glisten,
Like the glow on the face of Mars
When the stars to the angels listen.

And with me I see how she stands
With lips high thought has weighted;
With testifying hands,
And eyes with purity mated.

Have I spoken and have I kneeled
To the prayer I worship, I wonder?--
What waits on her lips that are sealed?
God-sealed and who shall sunder!

I sob, "Oh your stay was long!
You are come, but your feet were laggard,
With mansuetude and song
For a heart your death has daggered."

And I lift wet eyes to her
Unutterable with weeping,
And beg for the loves that were,
Now passed into Heaven's keeping....

I wake and a clock tolls three--
And the night and the storm lie serried
On the testament that's she,
Closed, clasped, and forever buried.

6.

The night is shrewd with storm and sleet;
Each loose-warped casement raps or groans;
I hear the wailing woodland beat
The tempest with long blatant moans,