Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Frances Dorr (Swift)Tatnall

1465 Art Thou the Same

ART thou the same, thou sobbing winter wind?

The same that rocked the cradle of the May,

That whispered through the leaves in summer noon,

And swelled the anthem of the full-crowned year?

Art thou the same, thou piteous, moaning thing,

Beating against the pane with ghostly hands,

Wailing in agony across the waste,—

Art thou the same—the same?

Art thou the same, thou poor heart bruised and faint,

Treading thy way alone through twilight gloom?

Art thou the same that sang to greet the dawn,

Carolling in the sunlight like a bird,

Too glad for speech, too glad for aught but song?

Art thou the same that prayest but for night,

For night to come and ease thee of thy pain,—

Art thou the same—the same?

Thou winter wind that wailest through the night,

Thou broken heart too crushed to moan or cry,

There will be rest even for ye, poor things,

And more than rest,—a joy new-washed in tears;

For through the portals of the fading year

Lie sunny hills and fields fresh-clad in green,

And after night who knows what day may bring?—

And ye unchanged, the same—the same?