Orange County Observer

The Leaves talked in the twilight, dear;
Hearken the tale they told:
How, in some far-off place and year,
Before the world grew old,
I was a dreaming forest-tree
You were a wild, sweet bird
That sheltered at the heart of me
Because the north wind stirred.
How, when the chiding gale was still,
When peace fell soft on fear,
You stayed one golden hour to fill
My dream with singing, dear.
To-night, the self-same songs are sung
The first green forest heard
My heart and the gray world grow young
To shelter you, my bird.

-Sophie Jewett, in Scribner's.