The unforeseen

How could I dream a day would ever dawn,

How could I dream the day would dawn, indeed,

When daffodils should glisten on the lawn,

And I not heed?

How strange it seems to think I never knew,

That one day Spring's first breath would thrill the air,

Brown furrows shine beneath the rain-washed blue,

And I not care.

How could I tell a long-remembered voice

Might stir grey sorrow from her wintry sleep?

I did not dream the song-thrush would rejoice,

And I but weep.