- THROUGH all the dolorous year mine eyes have sought
- The ever‐living loveliness that cleaves
- Even to dim grey skies and rain‐bent sheaves;
- Still is my garden with such beauty fraught,
- And bright azaleas flash me back my thought;
- Their sunny flowers are fallen, but the leaves
- Flame gold and scarlet, and my heart receives
- Delight more full than spring or summer brought.
- And I can twine a rich October crown
- With branchlets of the golden‐tressëd birch,
- Green cedar plumes, and beech‐leaves ruddy brown,
- And woodbine gems, of pure translucent red;
- Even some lonely flowers may cheer my search,
- Sweet as new joys that spring when hope is dead.