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.