 | From Sunset Ridge |  |
109
SPRING-BLOSSOMS
The little daisies, two by two,
The lilies wet with frosted dew,
The sweet procession of the Spring
Carries my baby's offering.
The lilies wet with frosted dew,
The sweet procession of the Spring
Carries my baby's offering.
I leave the thoughts that take his place,
Imaginations winged in space,
And fold his shadow to my breast,
With the dear lips that mine have prest.
Imaginations winged in space,
And fold his shadow to my breast,
With the dear lips that mine have prest.
Ever my introverted eyes
Recover that past paradise;
Not without hell pain shuddered through
Where life declined, to rise anew.
Recover that past paradise;
Not without hell pain shuddered through
Where life declined, to rise anew.
Oh! to my darling carry this,
The old-time phrase, the frequent kiss;
Remind him how, in his decay,
My life's enamel melts away.
The old-time phrase, the frequent kiss;
Remind him how, in his decay,
My life's enamel melts away.
Tell him my time must also come
To enter his restricted home,
Where my soul furniture shall be
His lovely immortality.
To enter his restricted home,
Where my soul furniture shall be
His lovely immortality.
| From Sunset Ridge | |