I
The red-gold sun

Sinking to rest

At day's end,

Tucking under its chin

The fleecy down comforter

That men call clouds.
 

II
 

The glimmer of moonlight

Rippling over the ocean of Heaven,

Or starshine

That sparkles

And makes of the lonely dark

A wondrous thing.
 

III
 

The first green of Springtime

Draping the shoulders

Of shivering trees

That whisper their words

Of gratitude to Him

Who covers their nudeness.
 

IV
 

The carol of robins

Bursting their throats

With riotous welcome

To a world reborn,

Risen from the tomb

Of dead forgotten things.
 

V
 

And love . . .

Filling young hearts

With strange yearning,

Linking two souls with their glories

Of sunsets and starshine and bird songs

And whispering trees in the Springtime.