 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
SWEET-BRIER.
Rose, with a fragrance diffused,
Of crushed gums and spicery bruised,
Through petal and stem and leaf,—
Thou art as the presence of one
Through deep glens of Paradise gone,
Far beyond reach of my grief.
Of crushed gums and spicery bruised,
Through petal and stem and leaf,—
Thou art as the presence of one
Through deep glens of Paradise gone,
Far beyond reach of my grief.
Thy soft lamp illumines the dell,
The gray granite smiles in thy spell,
Pink torch of the pasture's brown gloom
Thy lithe boughs, that gracefully sway,
Thy delicate odors, to-day
Restore me her womanly bloom.
The gray granite smiles in thy spell,
Pink torch of the pasture's brown gloom
Thy lithe boughs, that gracefully sway,
Thy delicate odors, to-day
Restore me her womanly bloom.
203
Wild buds awoke under her hand;
Rare blossoms would rise and expand
In the heaven of her eyes' blessed blue;
And her heart and her being were flowers
That lit up the desolate hours,
And, storm-beaten, lovelier grew.
Rare blossoms would rise and expand
In the heaven of her eyes' blessed blue;
And her heart and her being were flowers
That lit up the desolate hours,
And, storm-beaten, lovelier grew.
Spirit, that madest earth sweet,
Across barren hillsides my feet
Go seeking thee, missing thee still;
Yet thy love in my life doth remain,
A memory that pierces to pain—
A perfume, a pathos, a thrill.
Across barren hillsides my feet
Go seeking thee, missing thee still;
Yet thy love in my life doth remain,
A memory that pierces to pain—
A perfume, a pathos, a thrill.
If a blossom from heaven could lean,
A rose-flush, a glory of green
Trailing over the blank wall of death,
I think it would bring back to me
A waft of fresh woodlands and thee,—
Sweet-Brier, her soul in thy breath!
A rose-flush, a glory of green
Trailing over the blank wall of death,
I think it would bring back to me
A waft of fresh woodlands and thee,—
Sweet-Brier, her soul in thy breath!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |