 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
170
WHAT NEED?
“What need has the singer to sing?
And why should your poet to-day
His pale little garland of poesy bring,
On the altar to lay?
High-priests of song the harp-strings swept
Ages before he smiled or wept!”
And why should your poet to-day
His pale little garland of poesy bring,
On the altar to lay?
High-priests of song the harp-strings swept
Ages before he smiled or wept!”
What need have the roses to bloom?
And why do the tall lilies grow?
And why do the violets shed their perfume
When night-winds breathe low?
They are no whit more bright and fair
Than flowers that breathed in Eden's air!
And why do the tall lilies grow?
And why do the violets shed their perfume
When night-winds breathe low?
They are no whit more bright and fair
Than flowers that breathed in Eden's air!
What need have the stars to shine on?
Or the clouds to grow red in the west,
When the sun, like a king, from the fields he has won,
Goes grandly to rest?
No brighter they than stars and skies
That greeted Eve's sweet, wondering eyes!
Or the clouds to grow red in the west,
When the sun, like a king, from the fields he has won,
Goes grandly to rest?
No brighter they than stars and skies
That greeted Eve's sweet, wondering eyes!
What need has the eagle to soar
So proudly straight up to the sun?
Or the robin such jubilant music to pour
When day is begun?
The eagles soared, the robins sung,
As high, as sweet, when earth was young!
So proudly straight up to the sun?
Or the robin such jubilant music to pour
When day is begun?
The eagles soared, the robins sung,
As high, as sweet, when earth was young!
171
What need, do you ask me? Each day
Hath a song and a prayer of its own,
As each June hath its crown of fresh roses, each May
Its bright emerald throne!
Its own high thought each age shall stir,
Each needs its own interpreter!
Hath a song and a prayer of its own,
As each June hath its crown of fresh roses, each May
Its bright emerald throne!
Its own high thought each age shall stir,
Each needs its own interpreter!
And thou, O, my poet, sing on!
Sing on until love shall grow old;
Till patience and faith their last triumphs have won,
And truth is a tale that is told!
Doubt not, thy song shall still be new
While life endures and God is true!
Sing on until love shall grow old;
Till patience and faith their last triumphs have won,
And truth is a tale that is told!
Doubt not, thy song shall still be new
While life endures and God is true!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |