By all the storms an age can bring,
Frail sprays whose rest the zephyrs waken,
Yet lithesome with the juice of spring.
By sportive airs the foliage lifted,
Each green leaf shows its white below,
As foam on emerald waves is drifted,
Their tints alternate come and go.
And then the skies! when vapors cluster
From zenith to horizon’s verge,
As wild gusts ominously bluster,