New Zealand Verse/A Song of Winter

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XXIX.

A Song of Winter.

Bird on the leafless bough,
 Summer has fled;
Bird on the leafless bough,
 Flowers are dead.

Dead too thy trilling song,
 Dead in thy grief;
Not e’en a saddened song
 Mourns for the leaf.

E’en now on leafless bough
 Swells the small bud,
Soon all the leafy bough
 Blossoms shall stud.

Then ’mid the summer leaves,
 Winter forgot,
Singing ’mid summer leaves,
 Thy happy lot.

Why then, poor stricken soul,
 Why dost thou grieve ?
Thou knowest, stricken soul,
 Time will relieve.

Ah! will not mem’ry keep
 Sharp grief alive?
Never will mem’ry sleep
 Howe’er I strive.

Alexander Bathgate.

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