Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/94

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A Song of Winter.

XXIX.

A Song of Winter.

Bird on the leafless bough, Summer has fled;Bird on the leafless bough, Flowers are dead.
Dead too thy trilling song, Dead in thy grief;Not e’en a saddened song Mourns for the leaf.
E’en now on leafless bough Swells the small bud,Soon all the leafy bough Blossoms shall stud.
Then ’mid the summer leaves, Winter forgot,Singing ’mid summer leaves, Thy happy lot.
Why then, poor stricken soul, Why dost thou grieve ?Thou knowest, stricken soul, Time will relieve.
Ah! will not mem’ry keep Sharp grief alive?Never will mem’ry sleep Howe’er I strive.

Alexander Bathgate.

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