 | The Way of the Winepress |  |
THE PANTHEIST.
A NEW rose on the bush, a ripe red mouth,Coy opening to the kisses of the sun;
A new bird on the bough, for Summer won
A-carol in the tangled hawthorn growth;
A new breath in the breeze, of the soft South
That tells, new stirrings in the air that run.
But trifles all, when all is said and done:
Yet they avail to stay the spirit's drouth,
Voicing the promise, given by Winter past
And Summer sacring all the woods and leas,
Of some far fairer ecstasy and ease,
Which shall be ours, when, Life's dull dream at last
Dreamt to an end, we one are with all these,
With rain and sun, with rose and bird and breeze.
| The Way of the Winepress | |