I

Sick and sad, propped with pillows, she sits at her window:

When the dog’s-tooth violet comes With April showers, And the wild-bee haunts and hums About the flowers, We shall never wend as when Love laughed leading us from men Over violet vale and glen, Where the red-bird sang for hours, And we heard the flicker drum.

Now November heavens are gray: Autumn kills Every joy--like leaves of May In the rills.-- Here I sit and lean and listen To a voice that has arisen In my heart; with eyes that glisten Gazing at the happy hills, Fading dark blue, far away.