The Forest Cotillion
When the wind is joyous-hearted it stirs the graceful spruces,
And they nod at one another and toss their arms in abandon;
Then they sway their supple bodies in wonderful undulations,
Keeping a perfect time with the wind's mysterious music.
Then the watchmen of the forest, the solemn and silent birches,
Bend stiffly their stately heads, saluting their laughing sisters;
And the alders wake from slumber, and the willows grieve no longer
When the wild wind woos the stream and sets the trees a-dancing.
The Spruces of the Forest
Unhappy trees, beneath whose graceful branches
No lovers walk, no children ever play;
Who never hear the sound of girlish laughter,
But pass in gloom your silent lives away;
I wonder if ye heed me as I press
My heart to yours in utter loneliness.
I wonder if ye see me as I wander
Along the trail no feet but mine e'er tread;
I wonder if ye hear me when I murmur
The name of one who might as well be dead
So far away, so very far is she—
I wonder if ye heed and pity me?