And the great little loss of death's decay,
Will tell you all that happened yesterday.
Don't you recall, dear, how the fierce blow came?
Earth was at Spring-tide, all the fields aflame;
Hope was just freed from Winter's servitude
And songsters through the tree-tops he had strewed,
And promises of greenness in the wood,
While you, dear, grew in grace to womanhood."
Then you: "I would remember if I could,
But all is vague. Faint, like a far off strain,