Classic Poem

All the hills are dark,
Sombre clouds afloat;
Sunlight, not a spark,
Birdsong, not a note;
Only, through the blight,
Facing winter's night,
Flaunts the mountain-ash
Scarlet berries bright.

Like a flame of love,
Like a lilt of song
Lifted sheer above
Cares that press and throng,
Through the darkling day, —
Scarlet set in grey —
Splendid mountain-ash
Gleams along the way.