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.