Thou can’st not know how sweet thou art,
Nor what wild tides thy beams control.
For all thy heart a garden is,
Thy soul is like a dawn of May.
And garden and dawn might both be his,
Who from them both must turn away.
Oh, garden of the Spring’s delight!
Oh, dewy dawn of perfect noon!
I will not pluck thy roses white
Or warm thy May-time into June.
I can but bless thee, moon and rose,
And journey far and very far
To where the night no moonbeam shows,
To where no happy roses are!
Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low–God’s gift to her, as you to me.My baby dear, my little one,The love that rocks this cradling breastIs such as Mary gave her Son:She was more honoured, not more blest.He smiled as you smile: not more sweetThan your eyes were those eyes of His,And just such little…
This clouded earthly lifeAll storm and strife,Blasted with ice and fire,Love and desire,Filled with dead faith, and loveThat change is master of–O Thou, who mightest have givenTo all Thy heaven,But who, instead, didst giveThis life we live–Who feedest with blood and tearsThe hungry years–I make one prayer to Thee,O Great God! grant it me.Some day…
And down our happy woodland wayGray mists go wandering.You have forgotten too, they say;Yet, does no stealthy memory creepAmong the mist wreaths, ghostly gray,Where spell-bound violets sleep?Ah, send your thought sometimes to strayBy paths that knew our lingering feet.My thought walks there this many a day,And they, at least, may meet.
Made him my little joy for little hours,And fed him when I had a song to spare.And then I saw how good life’s good things were,The kingdoms and the glories and the powers.Flowers grew in sheaves and stars were shed in showers,And, when the great things wearied, Love was there.But when, within his cage, one…
Where the sea swept by when the land was young,And the great waves thundered along the bay,Under the sailing seagull’s feather,Wildly white in the stormy weather,And, murmuring ever a restless song,Shone, crumpled green, on a sunny day.Through eighteen hundred years of our time,With their storms and sieges, these walls have stood,Till the cliff that the…
You see the gnomes, at work beneath the mountain,Make gold and silver and diamonds every day;You see the angels, sliding down the moonbeams,Bring white dreams like sheaves of lilies fair;You see the imps, scarce seen against the moonbeams,Rise from the bonfire’s blue and liquid air.All the enchantment, all the magic there isHid in trees and…
