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48
THE LOVER AND THE WATERLILY
One weak willow
Just dips her pulseless fingers in the river;
We for ever
Would make this slope of April grass our pillow;
Where fishes flash and gleam,
We idly sit and dream,
While idler insects yet, with foot and wing,
Fret the still stream and sing.
Just dips her pulseless fingers in the river;
We for ever
Would make this slope of April grass our pillow;
Where fishes flash and gleam,
We idly sit and dream,
While idler insects yet, with foot and wing,
Fret the still stream and sing.
Yellow blossom,
Come up to daylight from the deep dark water,
Faint, frail daughter,
Shot, perfumed, from thine unseen mother's bosom,
How looks the world to thee,
Whose new-born petals see
More wonders in the world of earth and sky
Than we can till we die?
Come up to daylight from the deep dark water,
Faint, frail daughter,
Shot, perfumed, from thine unseen mother's bosom,
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Whose new-born petals see
More wonders in the world of earth and sky
Than we can till we die?
Art thou lonely?
Shoots there no other blossom for thy pleasure?
No fair treasure
Of leaf and bloom for thee made, and thee only?
Shall pale decay and death
Obscure thy fragrant breath,
Ere love can win thy heart a little while
With one faint passing smile?
Shoots there no other blossom for thy pleasure?
No fair treasure
Of leaf and bloom for thee made, and thee only?
Shall pale decay and death
Obscure thy fragrant breath,
Ere love can win thy heart a little while
With one faint passing smile?
Ah! poor flower,
If this thing be so, then, though wise in seeming
Thy pure dreaming,
I would not change lives with thee for one hour,
Though, sage beyond a man,
Thy leaves have power to scan
The scheme of nature, and past wave and sod
Glance clearly up to God!
If this thing be so, then, though wise in seeming
Thy pure dreaming,
I would not change lives with thee for one hour,
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Thy leaves have power to scan
The scheme of nature, and past wave and sod
Glance clearly up to God!
I, poor mortal,
As weak as thou, and blind where thou art seeing,
Whose frail being
Knocks, darkly groping, at life's outer portal,
Have yet one shining star
To cheer my heart afar;—
'Tis Love, more sweet than Wisdom, more divine
Than any gift of thine.
As weak as thou, and blind where thou art seeing,
Whose frail being
Knocks, darkly groping, at life's outer portal,
Have yet one shining star
To cheer my heart afar;—
'Tis Love, more sweet than Wisdom, more divine
Than any gift of thine.
This dear Woman,
Whose golden head beneath the long wan willow
Makes its pillow
Of this warm grass, so strangely soft and human,
Content to hold my hand,
Cares not to understand
Those mysteries that flowers and trees may know
A moment ere they go.
Whose golden head beneath the long wan willow
Makes its pillow
Of this warm grass, so strangely soft and human,
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Cares not to understand
Those mysteries that flowers and trees may know
A moment ere they go.
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