 | New Poems |  |
123
WORSHIP.
You are like an apple-shoot
In the orchard-closes,
And I a flower, whose tender root
On your root reposes;
The cold white winter through
We waited, I and you,
Till sunlit winds shot through
The thickets of dead roses.
In the orchard-closes,
And I a flower, whose tender root
On your root reposes;
The cold white winter through
We waited, I and you,
Till sunlit winds shot through
The thickets of dead roses.
‘Is this barren bough alive?’—
Said they;—but we waited.
‘Can this shrivelled stem revive?’—
Spring is scarce belated!
Your buds break out apace,
And all this quiet place
Shines with the soft green grace
Of warm leaves renovated.
Said they;—but we waited.
‘Can this shrivelled stem revive?’—
Spring is scarce belated!
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And all this quiet place
Shines with the soft green grace
Of warm leaves renovated.
I, the poorest, was the first!
How doth love embolden!
From my sheaf of leaves outburst
Three cups, green and golden;
One day at dawn they came
Shot out like sudden flame;
They whisper now your name,
And tremble, unbeholden.
How doth love embolden!
From my sheaf of leaves outburst
Three cups, green and golden;
One day at dawn they came
Shot out like sudden flame;
They whisper now your name,
And tremble, unbeholden.
Will they not stand shamed and dumb
When you burst in flower!
March is going, April come
Rich in sun and shower;
I am a daffodil;
Sweet, let your heart be still,
I wait for you until
You reach your blossoming hour.
When you burst in flower!
March is going, April come
Rich in sun and shower;
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Sweet, let your heart be still,
I wait for you until
You reach your blossoming hour.
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