 | Poems |  |
59
AN ANSWER.
You ask me if I love you still
With such a fervor and good will
As clung to you in years before.
My little saint! I love you more.
With such a fervor and good will
As clung to you in years before.
My little saint! I love you more.
You light your candle at the flame
That warms your hearth—'tis still the same,
A thousand tapers share its light,
But leave the radiance just as bright.
That warms your hearth—'tis still the same,
A thousand tapers share its light,
But leave the radiance just as bright.
For love with loving is not spent,
Not such is love's divine intent;
What year on year the sun shall dim;
What worship tire the seraphim?
Not such is love's divine intent;
What year on year the sun shall dim;
What worship tire the seraphim?
Like some sweet bloomless plant that grows
Beside the red and lavish rose,
That sees those blossoms blaze and die,
Brief darlings of the summer sky,
Beside the red and lavish rose,
That sees those blossoms blaze and die,
Brief darlings of the summer sky,
But holds its own most odorous leaves
To every hand that plucks their sheaves,
And where one branch for guerdon goes
Another and another grows;
To every hand that plucks their sheaves,
And where one branch for guerdon goes
Another and another grows;
60
So, darling, though my heart be filled
With newer love, it is not stilled,
But daily prays for daily bread,
Forever hungering, ever fed.
With newer love, it is not stilled,
But daily prays for daily bread,
Forever hungering, ever fed.
As in the dew-drop stars may shine,
So love itself, august, divine,
Kindles our finite lives with fire
That can not smoulder nor expire;
So love itself, august, divine,
Kindles our finite lives with fire
That can not smoulder nor expire;
Elates our souls with boundless strength,
Till loves are lost in Love at length,
Our mortal lights grow far and dim
And love and loving merge in Him.
Till loves are lost in Love at length,
Our mortal lights grow far and dim
And love and loving merge in Him.
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