Poetry Archives

Because on the branch that is tapping my pane
 A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled,
Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain,
 I know there is Spring in the world.

Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white
 My window frames all the day long,
A yellow-bird dips for an instant of flight,
 I know there is Song.

Because even here in this Mansion of Woe
 Where creep the dull hours, leaden-shod,
Compassion and Tenderness aid me, I know
 There is God.