A Lament

O verdant leaves, how long you bide, In the breezy arms of the mountain side;
So rich the life, from the sun’s warm ray,
That you weave with joy in the wind’s soft play.

But the clouds of winter shall mourn your song,
As you sigh along where the stream flows strong;
Yet still, the spring shall renew the life,
And the woods will bloom with the joy, not strife.

• G L D Mackay