Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

A Spirit rests upon our Earth, abiding, though unseen
Its soft and gleaming wing may be, we know where it hath been,
We hear no sound of rushing plumes, yet feel them where they pass,
O'er waving boughs and bursting buds, and light up-springing grass.

And we discern in Earth and sky, in all familiar things,
A sense, a subtle influence, we know not whence it springs!
A gentle presence looks on us with pure and loving face,
A mother yearns to fold her sons within a kind embrace.

Oh! she is bountiful and rich in costly things and rare,
But her sweetest, dearest blessings spring like lilies without care,

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The sun that shines o'er good and ill, the gentle rains that fall,
These are but types of what she gives—a heritage for all.

The glory of the silent eve, when all is hushed and still,
And golden sunset splendours stream o'er valley and on hill,
When broad and deep the shadows fall, and o'er the pearly sky
In glory Earth may never match, the clouds go sailing by.

Or when the flush of morning breaks in hues undreamt, untold,
And light dawns clear upon the world through shrouding mists of gold;
These are her pageantries in which each living soul bears part,
Her gorgeous shows for every eye, her lessons for each heart.

Where shielded for the eye of wealth exotic beauty glows,
The chaste Camellia unfolds her pure, unsullied snows,
The bright Geranium shines there in rich and crimson pride,
And waxen Orange-blossoms hoard their sweetness for the bride.

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But in the paths we daily tread, and in the poor man's way,
The flow'rets lie, whose looks, whose names, are far more sweet than they;
The Primrose gem-like, 'mid its leaves, and she whose heaven blue eye
Repeats the lesson it hath learnt from the pure changeless sky!

There clustering like wreathèd pearls, like ocean's foam-white spray,
It blooms for every hand and eye, the almond-scented May;
Fragrant and wild 'mid bosky dells the faint, pale Woodbines wreathe,
And shed their store of honey-dews for all that live and breathe.

A palm-like coronet, the Fern waves green 'neath hedge-rows lone,
The Cherry gleams within the woods, the Chestnut rears its cone;
The Furze breaks like an odorous flame o'er waste and upland wold,
And o'er each silent, ruined place the Wall-flower scatters gold.

And many a humble garden owns the flowers we love the best,
Whose aspects weave a gentle spell by every heart confest;

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Where glowing Pink and queen-like Rose in burning colours vie,
And the pale-blossomed Lilac breathes a summer on its sigh.

Within the palaces of wealth the song and dance are found,
The Viol and the Harp are there, the Lute with silver sound;
But Summer sends upon the air a yet more pleasant tune,
The slow, sweet murmurs of the bee, the melodies of June;

Dim forest-rustlings light and low, the waters lulling fall,
The songs of birds, the Ring-dove's plaint, more sad, more sweet than all;
In one deep hymn the mighty winds, the chiming billows blend,
And in a ceaseless harmony unto their Lord ascend.

Yet there are sweeter sounds than these!—the music of the heart
That breathes through greetings and farewells when kindred meet and part;
Kind voices loved in olden days, that bear upon their tone
A message from the happy Past and all that it hath known.

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Oh! dim must be the deadened eye, and dull the pining thought,
That owns not in all things that be, a power with blessing fraught;
The Mother-love that waits around with fond untiring care
Where each has all! abounding more, the more her children share.

A single taper homeward guides the poor man's toilworn way,
A thousand turn the rich man's night to soft and lustrous day;
But light more blessed shines alike on cottage and on hall,
Kind smiles are there, and pleasant words, and the dear, dear love for all!

Chacun en a sa part, et tous l'ont tout entier!”

Victor Hugo.