Baptism of Fire

Happy birds caroling love-songs, winds in the tree-tops at play,
Earth, like an Eden, rejoicing in the beautiful gladness of May!

Over the mountains a splendor of crimson and amethyst swept:
Gray mists stole up from the valley, the dense shadows after them
crept.

Down the green aisles of the orchard, pink-white with the promise of
bloom,
Stood the apple-trees, wooing already the brown bees with wealth of
perfume.

Then sounded the blast of a trumpet, like the cry of a soul in pain,
Crashing of thunder-bolts warring with the hosts of the scourging
rain.

Till when the raging battalions swept on with resistless sway,
Prone in the path of the tempest the pride of the orchard lay!

“O beautiful buds close folded, that never will bloom!” I cried,
“Alas for the unfulfilment, alas for the bliss denied!”

But filling my arms with the branches, I carried them in, where the
fire
Blazed on the glowing hearth-stone like a sacrificial pyre.

And into the flames I tossed them, when before my startled eyes,
As in a miraculous vision, shone a marvel, a surprise.

In the heart of the fiery splendor the pale buds, one by one,
Opened to heat of the burning as to kiss of the summer sun!