 | The hours of the passion and other poems |  |
DAWN
O Guardian, let me go!
Early my heart has stirred
My heart wakes ere the dawn,
As in its nest the bird.
I will go forth alone,
No one on me shall look,
Where the low berries hang
Beside the hidden brook.
Between the dark and dawn,
Down meadow paths I flee;
And home will carry through the dew
A basket filled for Thee;—
My gathered fruit for Thee.
Let me go!
Early my heart has stirred
My heart wakes ere the dawn,
As in its nest the bird.
I will go forth alone,
No one on me shall look,
Where the low berries hang
Beside the hidden brook.
Between the dark and dawn,
Down meadow paths I flee;
4
A basket filled for Thee;—
My gathered fruit for Thee.
Let me go!
I will not let thee go!
A thousand lips disgrace,
A thousand eyes of scorn,
Fasten upon My face;
Their fingers mock and point;—
I need thee, thee alone;
Give Me thine eyes, this hour,
Fixed, fixed, upon My own.
I will not let thee go!
A thousand lips disgrace,
A thousand eyes of scorn,
Fasten upon My face;
Their fingers mock and point;—
I need thee, thee alone;
Give Me thine eyes, this hour,
Fixed, fixed, upon My own.
I will not let thee go!
| The hours of the passion and other poems | |