5.

Here where the days are dimmest, Each old, big-hearted tree Gives bounteous sympathy; Here where dead nights sit grimmest In druid company; Here where the days are dimmest,

Leaves of my lone communion, Leaves; and the listening sigh Of silence wanders by; While on my soul the union Is—of the wood and sky— Leaves of my lone communion,

And eyes with tears are aching, While life waits wistfully For love that may not be: In visions vain of waking Lives all it can not see.— And eyes with tears are aching, And eyes with tears are aching,