A WINTER WALK.

We, never had believed, I wis,
At primrose time when west winds stole
Like thoughts of youth across the soul,
In such an alter'd time as this,
When if one little flower did peep
Up through the brown and sullen grass,
We should just look on it, and pass
As if we saw it in our sleep.
Feeling as sure as that this ray
Which cottage children call the sun,
Colours the pale clouds one by one,
Our touch would make it drop to clay.
Were never could have look'd, in prime
Of April, or when July trees
Shook full-leaved in the evening breeze, upon the face of this pale time,
Still, -'oft, familiar; shining bleak
On naked branches, sodden ground, Yet shining -as if one had found
A simile upon a dead friend's cheek, old friend, lost for years, had strange
In alter'd mien come sudden back,
Confronting us with our great lack —
Till loss seem'd far less sad than change.
Yet though, alas! Hope did not see
This winter skeleton through full leaves,
Out of all bareness Faith perceives
Possible life in field and tree in bough and trunk the sap will move,
And the mould break o'er springing flowers;
Nature revives with all her powers,
But only nature;- never love.
So, listlessly with linked hands
Both Faith and Hope glide soft away;
While in long shadows, cool and grey,
The sun sets o'er the barren lands.