Sorrow had hooded all your skies in gray,
And when these dancing boughs put on their gay,
Bright May-time bravery, they only grieved
A heart bereaved.
And though glad robins sang to you to stay,
And by the stream the first sweet-flags unfurled
Seemed nature’s truce to sorrow,—every way
Held warring memories wherewith to gainsay
And send you wandering over half the world.
Ah, well do I remember how my prayers