After a year of loss and disappointment, the speaker has decided to protect herself by expecting little and denying that happiness exists. A loved friend has died, trust feels scarce, and fear keeps arriving. The first stanza is deliberately closed-off and bitter. But the second stanza turns as April returns: willow branches shine, rain carries fragrance, and red maples blaze. Those sights and smells bypass her guardedness. She cannot hide from the season’s beauty or from the old desire it stirs, even though that desire rises out of suffering. The mood is conflicted—weary and grief-stricken, yet helplessly open to renewal. The final question is not really answered: joy and agony remain tangled, and the speaker seems both vulnerable and alive.
Red Maples — Summary
In the last year I have learned How few men are worth my trust; I have seen the friend I loved Struck by death into the dust, And fears I never knew before Have knocked and knocked upon my door-- "I shall hope little and ask for less," I said, "There is no happiness."
I have grown wise at last--but how Can I hide the gleam on the willow-bough, Or keep the fragrance out of the rain Now that April is here again? When maples stand in a haze of fire What can I say to the old desire, What shall I do with the joy in me That is born out of agony?