 | My Lyrical Life |  |
AT EVENTIDE.
I sit beneath my shadowing Palm,
All in the green o' the day at rest:
And pictured in a sea of calm,
The Past arises in my breast.
The winter world takes leafy wing
In that sweet April-tide of ours;
And hidden Love lies listening,
Where nodding smile the bridal flowers.
All in the green o' the day at rest:
And pictured in a sea of calm,
The Past arises in my breast.
The winter world takes leafy wing
In that sweet April-tide of ours;
And hidden Love lies listening,
Where nodding smile the bridal flowers.
I sing, and shut mine eyes and dream
I hear her singing, my young Bride!
Who on a-sudden from Life's stream
Rose Swan-like swimming at my side.
God love her! she was very fair,
And in her eyes, to light my way,
The Love-Star sprang and sparkled where
The hidden Babe of Blessing lay.
I hear her singing, my young Bride!
Who on a-sudden from Life's stream
Rose Swan-like swimming at my side.
God love her! she was very fair,
And in her eyes, to light my way,
The Love-Star sprang and sparkled where
The hidden Babe of Blessing lay.
219
With healing as of summer showers
That only nestle down to bless;
And silent ministry of flowers,
That only breathe their tenderness;
She, softly as a starry scheme,
My charmèd world hath circled round,
Till life doth seem a pleasant dream
The Victor dreameth sitting crowned.
That only nestle down to bless;
And silent ministry of flowers,
That only breathe their tenderness;
She, softly as a starry scheme,
My charmèd world hath circled round,
Till life doth seem a pleasant dream
The Victor dreameth sitting crowned.
Gone is the sunshine from her hair,
That made her beauty needless bright,
To tint a many clouds of care,
And cause the dark to smile with light.
But so she lives that when the wind
Of winter shreds the leaves, dear Wife!
Seed ripe for Heaven Death may find
On the poor withered stem of life.
That made her beauty needless bright,
To tint a many clouds of care,
And cause the dark to smile with light.
But so she lives that when the wind
Of winter shreds the leaves, dear Wife!
Seed ripe for Heaven Death may find
On the poor withered stem of life.
| My Lyrical Life | |