Solace ~ Clarissa Scott Delany (1901 – 1927)

My window opens out into the trees

And in that small space 

Of branches and of sky 

I see the seasons pass 

Behold the tender green 

Give way to darker heavier leaves. 

The glory of the autumn comes 

When steeped in mellow sunlight 

The fragile, golden leaves

Against a clear blue sky 

Linger in the magic of the afternoon 

And then reluctantly break off

And filter down to pave

A street with gold. 

Then bare, gray branches 

Lift themselves against the 

Cold December sky 

Sometimes weaving a web 

Across the rose and dusk of late sunset 

Sometimes against a frail new moon

And one bright star riding

A sky of that dark, living blue 

Which comes before the heaviness

Of night descends, or the stars

Have powdered the heavens. 

Winds beat against these trees; 

The cold, but gentle rain of spring 

Touches them lightly

The summer torrents strive 

To lash them into a fury 

And seek to break them—

But they stand. 

My life is fevered

And a restlessness at times

An agony—again a vague 

And baffling discontent 

Possesses me. 

I am thankful for my bit of sky

And trees, and for the shifting 

Pageant of the seasons. 

Such beauty lays upon the heart 

A quiet. 

Such eternal change and permanence

Take meaning from all turmoil

And leave serenity 

Which knows no pain.