 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
65
THE FLOWERS SURPRISED.
How still they seem to blossom there—The flowers our woodland-bank o'er-brimming!
Yet once I caught them unaware,
Ere they could hush their hymning:
Drunk with the sun, though mix'd with dew,
To look, to listen, they forgot;
I saw—alas! how brief a view!—
The ground enchanted where they grew,
And heard—ah me! but what?
A song that was so heavenly-gay,
It fled from human ears away,
A speech so spirit-pure and good,
I could not tell it if I would.
| Poems by James Rhoades | |