 | A Child of the People |  |
138
GOD'S ACRE.
Sharp sprang the streamers, red and grey,
Amid heaven's wanderers.
'Neath a round moon the low earth lay,
With face as white as hers,
And, gemmed with tears, Night's frosty spears
Stood fringe-wise round the firs.
Amid heaven's wanderers.
'Neath a round moon the low earth lay,
With face as white as hers,
And, gemmed with tears, Night's frosty spears
Stood fringe-wise round the firs.
I, loitering while the clanging bells
Adieu and welcome said,
To far and false sighed sad farewells;
But lilies seemed the dead,
Heaven's winter flowers whose roots are ours,
With our tears waterèd.
Adieu and welcome said,
To far and false sighed sad farewells;
But lilies seemed the dead,
Heaven's winter flowers whose roots are ours,
With our tears waterèd.
I have planted flowers Heaven took, and know
There seems no sadder thing
Than if the bell-flower of our woe,
Grown upward toward the Spring
Of God's delight, forgetteth quite
Who round its stem doth cling.
There seems no sadder thing
Than if the bell-flower of our woe,
Grown upward toward the Spring
Of God's delight, forgetteth quite
Who round its stem doth cling.
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But my dead love, grown to God's air
Where no flower fades or dies,
Draws hence my tears to star her hair;—
If there such pearls they prize,
Then she, I trow, hath rich enow
For all God's paradise!
Where no flower fades or dies,
Draws hence my tears to star her hair;—
If there such pearls they prize,
Then she, I trow, hath rich enow
For all God's paradise!
| A Child of the People | |