Into the garden,
I tenderly stepped,
To see beauties
For which hearts have leapt.
But what I saw,
Made my heart cry,
For winter had made
The blossoms all die.
With a tremble I thought,
To turn quickly away,
From the blighted hope
Of the withered day,
Yet pausing a moment,
As a ray fell upon,
A small little rose,
With color quite gone.
Laying in dust,
No longer brilliant or gay,
Yet still it whispered,
And I heard it say,
"Beauty's not gone,
Though Spring has faded,
Nor need your joy,
Be longer belated.
There's joy in memory,
Though a gentler kind.
No matter the season,
It can be Spring in your mind."
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