THE FOREST FIRE
These pines could feel the wind, the snow,
The April sun;
But through them now no changes flow.
The April sun;
But through them now no changes flow.
These pines could feel the grief and mirth
Of quiet years;
But now they know unchanging dearth,
Of quiet years;
But now they know unchanging dearth,
And they can feel no mood of spring—
Like certain souls
Who find in flame their blossoming.
Like certain souls
Who find in flame their blossoming.
[34]
