An Autumn Rose-Tree

It seemed too late for roses When I walked abroad to-day, October stood in silence, By the hedges all the way: Yet did I hear a singing, And I saw a red rose-tree:— In fields so gray with autumn How could song or roses be?

Oh, it was never maple Nor the dogwood’s coat afire, No sage with scarlet banners, Nor the poppy’s vested choir: The breeze that may be music When the summer lawns are fair Will have no heart for singing In the autumn’s mournful air.

As I went up the roadway, Under cold and lonely skies, A song I heard, a rose-tree Waved to me in glad surprise:— A red cloak and a ribbon, (Round the braided hair of jet) And redder cheeks than roses Of a little Margaret.

Now God is good in autumn, He can name the birds that sing, He loves the hearts of children More than flowery fields of spring: And when the years of winter Gray with Margaret will be, God will find her love still blossom Like a red rose-tree.