An Autumn Rose-Tree
It seemed too late for roses
When I walked abroad to-day,
October stood in silence,
By the hedges all the way:
Yet did I hear a singing,
And I saw a red rose-tree:—
In fields so gray with autumn
How could song or roses be?
Oh, it was never maple
Nor the dogwood’s coat afire,
No sage with scarlet banners,
Nor the poppy’s vested choir:
The breeze that may be music
When the summer lawns are fair
Will have no heart for singing
In the autumn’s mournful air.
As I went up the roadway,
Under cold and lonely skies,
A song I heard, a rose-tree
Waved to me in glad surprise:—
A red cloak and a ribbon,
(Round the braided hair of jet)
And redder cheeks than roses
Of a little Margaret.
Now God is good in autumn,
He can name the birds that sing,
He loves the hearts of children
More than flowery fields of spring:
And when the years of winter
Gray with Margaret will be,
God will find her love still blossom
Like a red rose-tree.