He Halted In The Wind, And, What Was That Far In The Maples, Pale, But Not A Ghost? He Stood There Bringing March Against His Thought, And Yet Too Ready To Believe The Most. 'Oh, That's The Paradise-In-Bloom,' I Said; And Truly It Was Fair Enough For Flowers Had We But In Us To Assume In March Such White Luxuriance Of May For Ours. We Stood A Moment So In A Strange World, Myself As One His Own Pretense Deceives; And Then I Said The Truth (And We Moved On). A Young Beech Clinging To Its Last Year'S Leaves.