 | The lion's cub |  |
ROSE AND VINE.
If you hearken to me,
Be it as one who knows
There is life in the wind he breathes,
Though he sees not whence it blows,
Nor whither, at last, it goes.
What I say to-day,
To-morrow I may unsay.
I saw a thorn last night,
This morning it is a Rose.
Be it as one who knows
There is life in the wind he breathes,
Though he sees not whence it blows,
Nor whither, at last, it goes.
What I say to-day,
To-morrow I may unsay.
I saw a thorn last night,
This morning it is a Rose.
If I hearken to you
It is in the same large way;
The words may be yours, or mine:
If the cup be filled with wine,
Who cares if the cup be clay?
No man knows
Where the Vine grows,
Or whence the scent
In the heart of the Rose.
We know all we need to know
Since they are ours to-day.
It is in the same large way;
The words may be yours, or mine:
If the cup be filled with wine,
Who cares if the cup be clay?
No man knows
Where the Vine grows,
Or whence the scent
In the heart of the Rose.
We know all we need to know
Since they are ours to-day.
| The lion's cub | |