Between Two Seasons

The hardy elm tree, like a landmark set
     Between two seasons, turn a face to one
     Death white with clinging snow, the dead year’s stone
Over its grave, where winter, lingering yet,
Like the restreating Partian, seems to threat
     The coming Queen of Verdure; toward the sun
     It bares the mosses, golden, green, & dun.
Of its rough ring, that let it ne’er forget
The green and gold of summer noons, and deep
     In its strong bosom the pale blood of the tree
Feels the far dance of Spring, and moved in sleep,
     Dreaming of that new life it cannot see!
So chilled by clinging doubt, the soul will keep
Toward hope’s warm south a pulse if its supreme To Be!