I shall tread, another year,
 Ways I walked with Grief,
Past the dry, ungarnered ear
 And the brittle leaf.

I shall stand, a year apart,
 Wondering, and shy,
Thinking, "Here she broke her heart;
 Here she pled to die."

I shall hear the pheasants call,
 And the raucous geese;
Down these ways, another Fall,
 I shall walk with Peace.

But the pretty path I trod
 Hand-in-hand with Love-
Underfoot, the nascent sod,
 Brave young boughs above,

And the stripes of ribbon grass
 By the curling way-
I shall never dare to pass
 To my dying day.