The Optimist

The fields were bleak and sodden.
    Not a wing
Or note enlivened the depressing wood;
A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood
Beside the roadway.    Winds came muttering
Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting
    Of icebergs in their breath.    Stalled cattle mooed
    Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth's green food.
No gleam, no hint of hope in anything.

The sky was blank and ashen, like the face
    Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too fast
Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling
About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace,
    Smiling with promise in the wintry blast,
The optimistic Willow spoke of spring.