OH Earth, you are too dear to-night,

In forests far and silentWhere Quiet plays alone.Her thoughts are like the lotusAbloom by sacred streamsBeneath the temple archesWhere Quiet sits and dreams.Her kisses are the rosesThat glow while dusk is deepIn Persian garden closesWhere Quiet falls asleep.

My thoughts of you are golden coinsStamped in the mint of memory;And I must spend them all in song,For thoughts, as well as gold, must beLeft on the hither side of deathTo gain their immortality.

He came along the crowded street,By all the ladies gay,And oh, he smiled and spoke to meBefore he went his way.My throat was tight with happiness,I couldn’t say a word,My heart was beating fast, so fastI’m sure he must have heard;And when he passed, I trembled likeA little frightened bird.I wish I were the flower-girlWho…

The years before I saw your faceGo by me with a wistful grace;They pass, the sensitive shy years,As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.The years went by and never knewThat each one brought me nearer you;Their path was narrow and apartAnd yet it led me to your heart–Oh sensitive shy years, oh…

Or forest fragrance ever faint or fail,Or breath and beauty pass among the dead!Yea, very truly has the poet said,No mist of years or might of death availTo darken beauty — brighter thro’ the veilWe see the glimmer of its-wings outspread.Oh face embowered and shadowed by thy hair,Some lotus blossom on a darkened stream!If ever…

Each one puts on before the glassHer most becoming hat and gown.But oh, the shy and eager thoughtsThat hide and will not get them dressed,Why is it that they always seemSo much more lovely than the rest?