 | The poems of Celia Thaxter |  |
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What good gift can I bring thee, O thou dearest!All joys to thee belong;
Thy praise from loving lips all day thou hearest,
Sweeter than any song.
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In fragrance, music, light;
The spring-time woos thee with a thousand voices,
For thee her flowers are bright;
Youth crowns thee, and love waits upon thy splendor,
Trembling beneath thine eyes;
The morning sky is yet serene and tender,
Thy life before thee lies.
What shall I bring thee, O thou dearest, fairest!
Thou holdest in thy hand
My heart as lightly as the rose thou wearest;
Nor wilt thou understand
Thou art my sun, my rose, my day, my morrow,
My lady proud and sweet!
I bring the treasure of a priceless sorrow,
To lay before thy feet.
| The poems of Celia Thaxter | |