The boughs of the elm are dancing still in a veil of tiny leaves,
Nothing is lost but a few years from my life.
Wind Elegy
(W. E. W.)
Only the wind knows he is gone,
Only the wind grieves,
The sun shines, the fields are sown,
Sparrows mate in the eaves;
But I heard the wind in the pines he planted
And the hemlocks overhead,
“His acres wake, for the year turns,