Page:St. Nicholas, vol. 40.1 (1912-1913).djvu/718

And the maples watch in the evening chill
Hour after hour, but he comes not, still.
And the young moon climbs the sky, and says,
“Is the heron come? Oh, length of days!
Has he left the marsh for our Northern home?
Does any know?—Has the heron come?”

Then the apples and maples and poplars sway
Bloomless; and, shaking their boughs, say,
“Nay.”
Then the young moon wearies, and goes to bed,
And the great stars watch in her place instead.
Then another day and night; but still
The moon sees naught from the western hill
But bloomless pastures, leafless, chill.

Another night she comes and says,
“Is the heron come? Oh, length of days!
From the South is the great blue heron flown?”
Then the first star whispers, “Yes, Lady, gone!”

Then the moon’s pale finger beckons and gleams
Heavy with jeweled rings of dreams;
And her skirts trail over the woods and streams.
And wherever they trail, on branch or stem,
Stir wonderful dreams at the touch of them—
In boughs all bare but yesternight,
Stir wonderful dreams of blossoms white;
In boughs that yesternight seemed dead,
Stir marvelous dreams of blossoms red.
Then the sap creeps swift; the bare boughs
bloom;