 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
225
MOST BELOVED.
My heart thou makest void, and full;
Thou giv'st, thou tak'st away my care;
O most beloved! most beautiful!
I miss, and find thee everywhere!
Thou giv'st, thou tak'st away my care;
O most beloved! most beautiful!
I miss, and find thee everywhere!
In the sweet water, as it flows;
The winds, that kiss me as they pass;
The starry shadow of the rose,
Sitting beside her on the grass;
The winds, that kiss me as they pass;
The starry shadow of the rose,
Sitting beside her on the grass;
The daffodilly trying to bless
With better light the beauteous air;
The lily, wearing the white dress
Of sanctuary, to be more fair;
With better light the beauteous air;
The lily, wearing the white dress
Of sanctuary, to be more fair;
The lithe-armed, dainty-fingered brier,
That in the woods, so dim and drear,
Lights up betimes her tender fire
To soothe the homesick pioneer;
That in the woods, so dim and drear,
Lights up betimes her tender fire
To soothe the homesick pioneer;
The moth, his brown sails balancing
Along the stubble, crisp and dry;
The ground-flower, with a blood-red ring
On either hand: the pewet's cry;
Along the stubble, crisp and dry;
The ground-flower, with a blood-red ring
On either hand: the pewet's cry;
The friendly robin's gracious note;
The hills, with curious weeds o'errun;
The althea, in her crimson coat
Tricked out to please the wearied sun;
The hills, with curious weeds o'errun;
The althea, in her crimson coat
Tricked out to please the wearied sun;
The dandelion, whose golden share
Is set before the rustic's plough;
The hum of insects in the air;
The blooming bush; the withered bough;
Is set before the rustic's plough;
The hum of insects in the air;
The blooming bush; the withered bough;
The coming on of eve; the springs
Of daybreak, soft and silver bright;
The frost, that with rough, rugged wings
Blows down the cankered buds; the white,
Of daybreak, soft and silver bright;
The frost, that with rough, rugged wings
Blows down the cankered buds; the white,
Long drifts of winter snow; the heat
Of August falling still and wide;
Broad corn fields; one chance stalk of wheat,
Standing with bright head hung aside:
Of August falling still and wide;
Broad corn fields; one chance stalk of wheat,
Standing with bright head hung aside:
All things, my darling, all things seem
In some strange way to speak of thee;
Nothing is half so much a dream,
Nothing so much reality.
In some strange way to speak of thee;
Nothing is half so much a dream,
Nothing so much reality.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |