Nature Mourns Her Lover

                                             I.
When Nature’s thoughtful lover leaves the old
    Familiar paths, and is no longer seen
    Where hidden brooks, betrayed by earlier green,
Sing, muffled in the woodland’s faded gold,
She seems to mourn in hope, as we who hold
    A hallowed memory like a pictured screen,
    Bright with the image of our love, between
Our moistened eyes and the grave’s broken mould.
The brooks sing monodies that charm the more
    For their sweet sadness, and the fragrant things
That bloom below the withered leaves, deplore
    Their vanished lover with such offerings
Of dainty odors that they seem to swim
From the waved censers of the Seraphim!

                                       II.
One sunny Soul whom all the wood-wilds knew,
    That know no more, save as the blue bird knows
    The soul of Summer in the air that blows
From bare March hills! Yet, to her memory true,
The sparkling rill, the violets, white and blue,
    And green-gold moss that by the runnel grows,
    Whisper of her in every breath that flows
From the cool aisles their beauty led her through!
She made them ministers of human love,     
    Healers of stricken hearts, and bearers, fain,
Of visioned nooks the dark pines bend above,
    With noonday dews to quench the fires of pain.
Long used to be her sweet interpreters,
Their pures lives still are eloquent of hers!

                                           III.
Shrinking Anemone, the meekly bold,
    Daring the ice-wind at the call of May,
    Repeats her gentle courage, prompt to lay
Her gift on Duty’s altar, and yet hold
Her sweet seclusion in the sheltered fold
    Of Home and loved hearts. Birds that hail the day
    While yet far off, till faint hope sings as they,
Echo the happy faith her whole life told.
The wild wood-paths that felt her free footprint
    When rathe Arbutus, with its pale pink lips
Kissed the young April, breathe a deathless hint
    Of her pure spirit, in the air that slips 
From the dim nooks where sunshine glimpses in,
And soft ring-doves their mellow moan begin!