 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
188
TO MARY SOPHIA SUTTON.
If any it pleases to see
Past work of thy poet,
'Tis wholly from thee and to thee
They have and they owe it;
Hadst thou not its author and it
So tenderly cherish'd,
It would in its burial-pit
Have quietly perish'd.
Past work of thy poet,
'Tis wholly from thee and to thee
They have and they owe it;
Hadst thou not its author and it
So tenderly cherish'd,
It would in its burial-pit
Have quietly perish'd.
And now that the summer is o'er,
And the autumn is ending,
I through the old garden once more
My way have been wending,
To cull, in the mist and the cold
And the wet and the waning,
Whatever of new or of old
Might still be remaining.
And the autumn is ending,
I through the old garden once more
My way have been wending,
To cull, in the mist and the cold
And the wet and the waning,
Whatever of new or of old
Might still be remaining.
189
Well knowing towards all that is mine
Thy generous leanings,
I boldly denominate thine
These ultimate gleanings;
And gladly I bring unto thee,
(Strong love's weak expression,)
This handful of flowers to be
Thy special possession.
Thy generous leanings,
I boldly denominate thine
These ultimate gleanings;
And gladly I bring unto thee,
(Strong love's weak expression,)
This handful of flowers to be
Thy special possession.
Thou'lt prize them no less though they tell
That winter is coming;
Yet let them foreshadow as well
Our heavenly homing;
The winter will nip and will sting
And blacken and harden,
But in the soon-following Spring
We'll have a new garden.
That winter is coming;
Yet let them foreshadow as well
Our heavenly homing;
The winter will nip and will sting
And blacken and harden,
But in the soon-following Spring
We'll have a new garden.
November, 1885.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |