Alice

Through blooms of summer glee she runs,

‘Cross florid fields of colored cheer—

Her lilting song to golden suns

That frolic ‘til the night is near.   

No care she takes for summer’s end,

No thought of gray or falling skies.

“‘Tis youth,” I said; and did contend,

But I might as speak to butterflies. 

Now shorter days (not light for long)

And winds that warn of grievous times,

But still her laughter and her song

Ring through the fields like winter chimes.

I’ve toiled through summer days, indeed,

That I might sing through shuttered pane,

And saved my joy until there’s need

For melody in glad refrain. 

My lamp is bright, I’ve oil to spare

Against the gloom that winter brings,

But happiness?  ‘Twas lost somewhere

Among the fields where Alice sings.