I

When the thorn on the down

Quivers naked and cold,

And the mid-aged and old

Pace the path there to town,

In these words dry and drear

It seems to them sighing:

“O winter is trying

To sojourners here!”

II

When it stands fully tressed

On a hot summer day,

And the ewes there astray

Find its shade a sweet rest,

By the breath of the breeze

It inquires of each farer:

“Who would not be sharer

Of shadow with these?”

III

But by day or by night,

And in winter or summer,

Should I be the comer

Along that lone height,

In its voicing to me

Only one speech is spoken:

“Here once was nigh broken

A heart, and by thee.”