 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
VISTAS OF COMPASSION
A lullaby heard in a sunlit glade
And a voice in a forest bower;
The tender tones of a youth or maid,
And the wistful want of the world display'd
Comes over the heart with power.
And a voice in a forest bower;
The tender tones of a youth or maid,
And the wistful want of the world display'd
Comes over the heart with power.
Their message of hunger and aching deep
No tongue can in words translate;
But pity flows over for paths so steep,
For the dreadful height where the white worlds sweep
And the cloud on the golden gate.
No tongue can in words translate;
But pity flows over for paths so steep,
For the dreadful height where the white worlds sweep
And the cloud on the golden gate.
O lullaby, soothe the babe's repose!
O voice, on the huntsman call!
A tenderness lives in the heart of the rose—
O sweet-lipp'd lovers! Who knows, who knows,
The secret measure of all?
O voice, on the huntsman call!
A tenderness lives in the heart of the rose—
O sweet-lipp'd lovers! Who knows, who knows,
The secret measure of all?
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |