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In a Greenhouse in April
WHILE spring delays with wintry skies o'erhead,
And fields and woods are somber, brown, and bare,
And perched on friendless limb, in seeming dread,
The robin sits, and snow banks chill the air;
Here, 'mid fresh leaves and flowers of every hue,
In summer's ripe and rich epitome;
I sense the coming time, I seize the clue
To the marvelous beauty soon to be.
While hopes delay in realization long,
And toil and struggle often seem but vain;
Withheld the height that doth to life belong;
No higher level reached than loss and gain;
Here, in my heart abides a germ to grow,
Till all in life in triumph I shall know.
