YOUTH RENEWED.
Yes ; with silver dashing Of a show'r just shed, On the gloomy beech-tree, Wet were leaves o'er head.
Wet were all the roses On the garden wire, Wet were all the corn-fields' Flakes of yellow fire.
By the gloomy beech-tree, By the roses wan, Looking on the corn-fields,
Whence the gold was gone, Walk'd I sadly, thinking,
"I am no more young," When, among the dripping Leaves, a wild bird sung.
Alt ! I thought he chanted Some immortal strain, Of a sneerer sunshine Coming after rain. Of a richer flushing On a finer rose, Of a tint more golden Than the autumn knows.
Yes ! with sorrow wetted, in life's autumn day, Is the cheek full often When the hair grows grey.
All the leaves and blossfts Drip with rain of tears, And the sheaves lie sodden On the field of years.
Then a sweet bird singeth Of a joy that lies
In the grief that's only
Glory in disguise ; Sings of youth more happy Sunlight more divine, Gentle bird, sweet spiri What a song is thine
W. A.
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