University of Virginia Library

THE FLOWER AND THE HAND.

Just after Nightfall.

I heard a whisper of Roses,
And light, white Lilies laugh out—
“Ah, sweet when the evening closes,
And Stars come looking about;
How cool and good it is to stand,
Nor fear at all the gathering hand!”
“Would I were red!” cried a White Rose,
“Would I were white!” cried a red one.
“No longer the light Wind blows,
He went with the dear dead Sun.
Here we forever seem to stay,
And yet a Sun dies every day.”
A Lily.
“The Sun is not dead, but sleeping,
And each day the same Sun wakes;
But when Stars their watch are keeping,
Then a time of rest he takes.”

Many Roses together.
“How very wise these Lilies are!
They must have heard Sun talk with Star!”

First Rose.
“Pray, then, can you tell us, Lilies,
Where slumbers the Wind at night,
When the garden all round so still is,
And brimmed with the Moon's pale light?”

A Lily.
“In branches of great Trees he rests.”

Second Rose.
“Not so; they are too full of nests.”

First Rose.
“I think he sleeps where the grass is;
He there would have room to lie;
The white Moon over him passes;
He wakes with the dawning sky.”

Many Lilies together.
“How very wise these Roses seem,
Who think they know, and only dream!”

First Rose.
“What haps to a gathered flower?”

Second Rose.
“Nay, sister, now who can tell?
One comes not back a single hour,
To say it is ill or well:
I would with such an one confer,
To know what strange things chanced to her.”

First Rose.
“Hush! hush! now the Wind is waking—
Or is it the Wind I hear?
My leaves are thrilling and shaking—
Good-by—I am gathered, my dear!
Now, whether for my bliss or woe,
I shall know what the plucked flowers know!”