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 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Enigma No. 17.
I am the child of the brightest thing
Which may gladden mortal eyes,
Yet the silent sweep of my dusky wing
Over my mother may dimness fling,
And smiling she faints and dies.
Which may gladden mortal eyes,
Yet the silent sweep of my dusky wing
Over my mother may dimness fling,
And smiling she faints and dies.
255
I move, I dance, I fall, I fly,
Yet anon I may calmly sleep;
I mark the bright-winged hours flit by,
Your ingenuity perhaps I try;
I am long, or short, or deep.
Yet anon I may calmly sleep;
I mark the bright-winged hours flit by,
Your ingenuity perhaps I try;
I am long, or short, or deep.
I have been hailed as a boon untold,
Or dreaded and shunned ere now;
The earth in my wide embrace I fold,
The mountain regions are my stronghold,
Yet I steadily follow the plough.
Or dreaded and shunned ere now;
The earth in my wide embrace I fold,
The mountain regions are my stronghold,
Yet I steadily follow the plough.
I may rest a while in the minster pile,
Or beneath the old oak tree;
Often with trackless step I pass
O'er the whispering corn and the waving grass,
Or tread the changeful sea.
Or beneath the old oak tree;
Often with trackless step I pass
O'er the whispering corn and the waving grass,
Or tread the changeful sea.
All the day through I follow you,
Yet beware how you follow me;
For each child of man I may oft beguile,
And cloud the light of his sunniest smile,
Till for ever away I flee.
Yet beware how you follow me;
For each child of man I may oft beguile,
And cloud the light of his sunniest smile,
Till for ever away I flee.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |