The long dark night crawled slowly on;
I waited patiently,
Knowing at last the sudden dawn,
Sometime, would surely be.
It came,—to tell me everything
Was Winter’s quiet slave:
I waited still, aware that Spring
Was strong to come and save.
And then Spring came, and I was glad
A few expectant hours;
Until I learned the things I had
Were only withered flowers
Because there came not with the Spring
As in the ancient days—
The sound of his feet pattering
Along Spring’s open ways;
Because his sweetly serious eyes
Looked into mine no more;
Because no more in childish-wise;
He brought his gathered store
Of dandelions to my bed,
And violets and grass,―
Deeming I would be comforted
That Spring had come to pass.
And now these unused toys and I
Have little dread or care
For any season that drifts by
The silence we share;
And sometimes, when we think to pray,
Across the vacant years
We see God watching him at play
And pitying our tears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem