All night the lone cicada
Kept shrilling through the rain,
A voice of joy undaunted
By unforgotten pain.
Down from the tossing branches
Rang out the high refrain,
By tumult undisheartened,
By storm assailed in vain.
To looming vasts of mountain,
To shadowy deeps of plain
The ephemeral, brave defiance
Adventured not in vain,—
Till to my faltering spirit,
And to my weary brain,
From loss and fear and failure
My joy returned again.