<h2><SPAN name="poem69"></SPAN>>THE OPTIMIST</h2>
<p class="poetry">The fields were bleak and sodden.<br/>
Not a wing<br/>
Or note enlivened the depressing wood;<br/>
A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood<br/>
Beside the roadway. Winds came muttering<br/>
Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting<br/>
Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle
mooed<br/>
Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth’s
green food.<br/>
No gleam, no hint of hope in anything.</p>
<p class="poetry">The sky was blank and ashen, like the face<br/>
Of some poor wretch who drains life’s cup too
fast<br/>
Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling<br/>
About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace,<br/>
Smiling with promise in the wintry blast,<br/>
The optimistic Willow spoke of spring.</p>
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