An Echo from Willow

Upon reflections, like pale drops of dew, the willow flicks its tears here and there, and whispers caught amongst the trees too, calls earth into sweet and quiet fare.

For have we not seen shadows falling bright? Are they not worn ‘neath all the gentle high? Where every soul does wait in twilight’s light, lost in the depth of a summer sky.

As honeyed past-bound thoughts trace through wild woods, echoes answered, boughs all lead again, drifting aloft beside the sunny floods; for waiting air in whispers, soft-spoken then.

For nature flows with echoes, through stout hearts, and holds them together like lace fin’s parts.

• Dante Gabriel Rossetti