Poems (White)/Retrievement
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RETRIEVEMENT
Silent trees, the winter's rigors
Leave you stripped, with naught to choose;
Stretching up bare arms and fingers,
You have nothing more to lose.
So are we in a great sorrow,—
Naught is left for us to choose;
Bare of all, the heart still lingers,
But nothing now may hurt or bruise.
God sent Spring, with vernal weather,
That the sap may quickly rise,
Clothing all in happy feather,—
Such a glad and sweet surprise.
So our hearts 'mid mournful blindness
May respond to love and kindness.
Leave you stripped, with naught to choose;
Stretching up bare arms and fingers,
You have nothing more to lose.
So are we in a great sorrow,—
Naught is left for us to choose;
Bare of all, the heart still lingers,
But nothing now may hurt or bruise.
God sent Spring, with vernal weather,
That the sap may quickly rise,
Clothing all in happy feather,—
Such a glad and sweet surprise.
So our hearts 'mid mournful blindness
May respond to love and kindness.