To try what a wish could do, I searched today The orchard's shivering branches for a trace Of timid green to mock the scattered play Of snowflakes falling whitely into place. And all at once, from nowhere, everywhere. Surely I knew the faint, occult and brief Expectancy of buds, and all the air Seemed lit as with the amber of new leaf. But, one lost year, this sure renascence found In me no burgeoning. One faithful tree Had seen my doubting spirit winter-bound, And thinking to beguile me, quietly Let fall a drift of petals, and I heard: ''All this for you - have you no welcome-word?''