Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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THE FLOWER |
 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
THE FLOWER
In the silken and splendid gloom of a pansy purple room,
Where a soul's rose-gardens bloom—
Fluttered astir and sweet by the far, faint, rhythmic beat
Of the beautiful, dancing feet—
Silent and all unknown, was the seed of Heaven sown
From its free fields over-blown.
While the soul that brooded there knew not if Earth could be fair;
Asked only for patience, from Fate wisely to work and to wait.
No sunshine or early or late,
No softness of summer air won the world a welcome to wear,
But grim woods gray and bare,
For their vanished joys made moan, for their glow and glory gone.
Yet never stealing astray for the pulseless, pitiless day
The winged seed found way
From afar through the frozen zone to a soil that knew its own.
Swift shrinking from the light, shy shrinking out of sight—
Ah! Sweet, what words can tell
Our miracle?
Where a soul's rose-gardens bloom—
Fluttered astir and sweet by the far, faint, rhythmic beat
Of the beautiful, dancing feet—
Silent and all unknown, was the seed of Heaven sown
From its free fields over-blown.
While the soul that brooded there knew not if Earth could be fair;
Asked only for patience, from Fate wisely to work and to wait.
No sunshine or early or late,
No softness of summer air won the world a welcome to wear,
But grim woods gray and bare,
For their vanished joys made moan, for their glow and glory gone.
220
The winged seed found way
From afar through the frozen zone to a soil that knew its own.
Swift shrinking from the light, shy shrinking out of sight—
Ah! Sweet, what words can tell
Our miracle?
Taught by no touch of toil, untainted by earthly moil,
Slow from its sacred soil,
Uprose the Sacred Flower fashioned of inward power,
Nourished of Heaven's grace to bless one waiting face,
No weed of tendance there, no claim on thought or care,
Frail life to strengthen or spare
Since each fresh dawning hour brings certain dower.
Slow from its sacred soil,
Uprose the Sacred Flower fashioned of inward power,
Nourished of Heaven's grace to bless one waiting face,
No weed of tendance there, no claim on thought or care,
Frail life to strengthen or spare
Since each fresh dawning hour brings certain dower.
All gales from the year that blow, white chill from wide hills of snow,
The Morning-red and glow
Of evening skies in June, fire of the fervid noon,
Pallor of midnight moon,
Strain of storm and stress of sun
Minister manifold all as one
To the Ineffable Life begun,
But without end. Its radiant colors blend
Of all the seasons send,
And from its mystic heart, such passionate perfumes part,
Though half its wondrous art
Lies yet in secret chambers coiled and curled,
Its fragrance fills the world.
The Morning-red and glow
Of evening skies in June, fire of the fervid noon,
Pallor of midnight moon,
Strain of storm and stress of sun
Minister manifold all as one
To the Ineffable Life begun,
But without end. Its radiant colors blend
Of all the seasons send,
221
Though half its wondrous art
Lies yet in secret chambers coiled and curled,
Its fragrance fills the world.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |