To a Child

The leaves talked in the twilight, dear; Hearken the tale they told: How in some far-off place and year, Before the world grew old, I was a dreaming forest tree, You were a wild, sweet bird Who sheltered at the heart of me Because the north wind stirred; How, when the chiding gale was still, When peace fell soft on fear, You stayed one golden hour to fill My dream with singing, dear. To-night the self-same songs are sung The first green forest heard; My heart and the gray world grow young— To shelter you, my bird.