Not Meagre, Latent Boughs Alone

Not meagre, latent boughs alone, O songs! (scaly and bare, like
eagles’ talons,)
But haply for some sunny day (who knows?) some future spring, some
summer--bursting forth,
To verdant leaves, or sheltering shade--to nourishing fruit,
Apples and grapes--the stalwart limbs of trees emerging--the fresh,
free, open air,
And love and faith, like scented roses blooming.