O SLENDER willow, that beside
The meadow brooklet leanest here,
Sad, in this joy-time of the year,
Dost cast gold catkins on the tide,
As strips the widowed Hindoo bride
Her jeweled arms, with grief austere, —
O slender willow ? . . .
Or makest fickle haste to hide
The pale young sunshine’s gifts, once dear,
Ere beam more splendid shall appear,
To clothe thee all in verdurous pride, —
O slender willow ?
C. E. Sutton.