And Yet... by Leigh Gordon Giltner

Upon the meads where we were wont to stray,

'Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,

The Spring has smiled; yon slope that late gloomed gray

And sternly sad, 'neath April's tender showers

Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,

A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,

Breaks at my feet in billows foamed with flowers;

And blue-eyed myrtle blooms with lashes wet

Smile to me thro' their tears. The skies are blue,

And life is sweet to-day and hope seems true;

My heart is barren of its long regret--

And yet.