 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
231
FLIGHT
I soothed a bird with a broken limb—
Why does a rose so sweetly smell?—
Bright were the eyes and the plumes of him:
O heart beat softer!—
Thou canst not tell.
Why does a rose so sweetly smell?—
Bright were the eyes and the plumes of him:
O heart beat softer!—
Thou canst not tell.
Safe in a bower he was set to rest—
What is the secret of beauty's spell?—
He was woo'd to health in a lichen nest:
O sweet bird-singer!—
Thou canst not tell.
What is the secret of beauty's spell?—
He was woo'd to health in a lichen nest:
O sweet bird-singer!—
Thou canst not tell.
The bird flew out through a door ajar—
Where flies the soul with the passing bell?—
High sounds his song at the evening star:
O voice of freedom!—
Thou canst not tell.
Where flies the soul with the passing bell?—
High sounds his song at the evening star:
O voice of freedom!—
Thou canst not tell.
But why the rose has a scent so sweet—
And where all secrets of beauty dwell—
When souls go up from this dim retreat
Through gates left open—
The soul shall tell.
And where all secrets of beauty dwell—
When souls go up from this dim retreat
Through gates left open—
The soul shall tell.
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |