 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
66
TWO.
I am the foot-stalk and she is the flower,—
I am the lattice and she is the vine;
My heart's a thirsty waste,—hers is the shower
Bringing refreshing and gladness to mine.
I am the lattice and she is the vine;
My heart's a thirsty waste,—hers is the shower
Bringing refreshing and gladness to mine.
She is a sculptured dome,—I, the harsh granite;—
She is the virgin gold,—I, the rough ore;—
She is a perfect and beautiful plant,
I am the nebulous chaos of yore.
She is the virgin gold,—I, the rough ore;—
She is a perfect and beautiful plant,
I am the nebulous chaos of yore.
She is a living form; I am the marble
Which 'neath the chisel, may image her charms;—
My music breathes of art;—hers is the warble
Borne up to heaven, in the morning's blue calms.
Which 'neath the chisel, may image her charms;—
My music breathes of art;—hers is the warble
Borne up to heaven, in the morning's blue calms.
Her mind, a polished gem, needs no attrition,
Mine is crude, shapeless, as won from the soil;
She, by a natural and easy transition,
Grows to the grace that I reach but by toil.
Mine is crude, shapeless, as won from the soil;
She, by a natural and easy transition,
Grows to the grace that I reach but by toil.
67
Mine is a power acquired,—hers was born with her,—
Mine is a studied charm,—hers is her own;
She looks down on the world,—I look up thither,—
I stand with thousands, but she stands alone.
Mine is a studied charm,—hers is her own;
She looks down on the world,—I look up thither,—
I stand with thousands, but she stands alone.
I am the canvas whereon may be painted
Shapes of strange beauty,—conceptions sublime,—
She a rare picture,—pure, beautiful, sainted,
Sketched by the Master, to live for all time.
Shapes of strange beauty,—conceptions sublime,—
She a rare picture,—pure, beautiful, sainted,
Sketched by the Master, to live for all time.
She is a spring;—I, the rock that stands by it;
She is the calm bright sky,—I am the sea,
Mirroring softly its pure starry quiet;—
This is the difference in my love and me!
She is the calm bright sky,—I am the sea,
Mirroring softly its pure starry quiet;—
This is the difference in my love and me!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |