After the Winter

Some day, when trees have shed their leaves

         And against the morning's white

The shivering birds beneath the eaves

         Have sheltered for the night,

We'll turn our faces southward, love,

         Toward the summer isle

Where bamboos spire to shafted grove

         And wide-mouthed orchids smile.

And we will seek the quiet hill

         Where towers the cotton tree,

And leaps the laughing crystal rill,

         And works the droning bee.

And we will build a cottage there

         Beside an open glade,

With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,

         And ferns that never fade.