A Reed by the River/A Frozen Spring
A FROZEN SPRING
Lone Winter trails his cloak across the hill,
Looks back and leaves the mute mask of his face
Caught in the hollow, sullen, gray and still,
And veils the desolation of the place
With a sharp breath of bitter, brief regret;
But we who saw an earlier mystery
Of thorny vine and ferny brink, and fret
Of soft-spun grass, and glimpse of crystal sky,
Know that a song lies pent beneath this hush,
A song of unforgotten things and sweet,—
The year's white birth, the first notes of the thrush,
Red dawns and April's yellow sunsets fleet;
So, 'neath the mask of age, lies hid Time's truth,
The throbbing, hoping, singing heart of Youth.
Looks back and leaves the mute mask of his face
Caught in the hollow, sullen, gray and still,
And veils the desolation of the place
With a sharp breath of bitter, brief regret;
But we who saw an earlier mystery
Of thorny vine and ferny brink, and fret
Of soft-spun grass, and glimpse of crystal sky,
Know that a song lies pent beneath this hush,
A song of unforgotten things and sweet,—
The year's white birth, the first notes of the thrush,
Red dawns and April's yellow sunsets fleet;
So, 'neath the mask of age, lies hid Time's truth,
The throbbing, hoping, singing heart of Youth.