Ина Донна Кулбрит (Ina Donna Coolbrith)

* * *

While lilies bud and blow,
While roses grow,
And trees wave greenly in the sun —
Wave greenly to and fro;
And ring-doves coo and coo,
And skies drop dew,
And th' throstle pipes above the nest
His wee mate broods upon,
How can one choose but sing
Of joy, love—every thing!

While the north wind sobs and grieves,
While the trees drop leaves,
And scentless, budless meadows lie
Bare to the beating rain;
And the birds are grown and flown,
And the nests are lone,
And love, like closing day,
Grows cold, grows old and gray —
How can one help but sigh,
"While night draws nigh,
And darkly runs the river to the main!

A little plot where showers
May bring forth flowers—
Poppies, mandragora, and all sweet balm!
Ah me! who can but smile?
Only a little while,
And hearts forget to ache,
And eyes to wake;
The grass clasps softly velvet palm with palm
Above the quiet breast,
And hope, and God's white angels, know the rest!

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