Because on the branch that is tapping my pane
   A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled,
Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain,
   I know there is Spring in the world.

Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white
   My window frames all the day long,
A yellow-bird dips for an instant of flight,
   I know there is Song.

Because even here in this Mansion of Woe
   Where creep the dull hours, leaden-shod,
Compassion and Tenderness aid me, I know
   There is God.