With grief I walked in woodland solitude,
And called aloud in prayer, and bade them hear,—
The dumb, grey forest trees that stood a-near
And made as if they knew not that I sued.
The winter wind played no soft interlude,—
No little lisping song to soothe and cheer,
As mother's whispering calms the children's fear,—
But stormed and raged, as if in angry mood.
Then in a moment all the tumult ceased.
With tender grey the sky was overcast,
And bowed the head of every towering tree.
Straightway from half my care I was released,
And life grew sweet again; I knew at last
That silence was the truest sympathy.