The long dark night crawled slowly on;
I waited patiently,
Knowing at last the sudden dawn,
Sometime, would surely be.
It came,—to tell me everything
Was Winter's quiet slave:
I waited still, aware that Spring
Was strong to come and save.
And then Spring came, and I was glad
A few expectant hours;
Until I learned the things I had
Were only withered flowers
Because there came not with the Spring
As in the ancient days—
The sound of his feet pattering
Along Spring's open ways;
Because his sweetly serious eyes
Looked into mine no more;
Because no more in childish-wise
He brought his gathered store
Of dandelions to my bed,
And violets and grass,—
Deeming I would be comforted
That Spring had come to pass.
And now these unused toys and I
Have little dread or care
For any season that drifts by
The silences we share;
And sometimes, when we think to pray,
Across the vacant years
We see God watching him at play
And pitying our tears.