 | English Roses |  |
MAUDIE.
Did the waters tell you, as you passed,
All the secrets of their glancing way?
Is the magic of the moonbeam glassed,
In those eyes, delicious green and gray?
Did the woodland's lisp of many leaves
Breathe into your brow its pensive air,
And below the beauty of its eaves
Teach you to forget that you were fair?
Did the breadths of rolling moors and mounts
Pour their wildness in your dancing feet,
And the upward flash of living founts
Form those woven words so crystal sweet?
All the secrets of their glancing way?
Is the magic of the moonbeam glassed,
In those eyes, delicious green and gray?
Did the woodland's lisp of many leaves
Breathe into your brow its pensive air,
And below the beauty of its eaves
Teach you to forget that you were fair?
Did the breadths of rolling moors and mounts
Pour their wildness in your dancing feet,
And the upward flash of living founts
Form those woven words so crystal sweet?
98
Child of Nature and mine inmost heart,
Maudie, it is well to watch that face;
Which reflects, with its unconscious art,
Every gift that is a hidden grace.
Ah, each picture of the golden cup
Plays about the surface and in sight,
As in glory it goes rippling up
And runs over into love and light.
Thou art comrade of the devious brook
Pushing on its path through bell and bine,
Blazoned here and there with laughing look
Out from mists of moss and depths divine.
Maudie, it is well to watch that face;
Which reflects, with its unconscious art,
Every gift that is a hidden grace.
Ah, each picture of the golden cup
Plays about the surface and in sight,
As in glory it goes rippling up
And runs over into love and light.
Thou art comrade of the devious brook
Pushing on its path through bell and bine,
Blazoned here and there with laughing look
Out from mists of moss and depths divine.
Thou art closer to the heart of things
And dost catch the throbbing and the beat,
The sweet laughter and low murmurings
Of the eternal childhood at its seat;
Thou has learned the riddle of the rose—
How it spends its bosom in a blush,
And the petals fragrantly unclose
Dew and honey in the evening hush;
Thou wast one for ever with the spell
Dropt by pansies from their wondering eyes,
When the foxglove rings its matin bell
And they mirror back the opening skies.
And dost catch the throbbing and the beat,
The sweet laughter and low murmurings
Of the eternal childhood at its seat;
Thou has learned the riddle of the rose—
How it spends its bosom in a blush,
And the petals fragrantly unclose
Dew and honey in the evening hush;
Thou wast one for ever with the spell
Dropt by pansies from their wondering eyes,
When the foxglove rings its matin bell
And they mirror back the opening skies.
Whisper to me, Maudie, what the lark
Chanteth highest when the heavens are dim
And the dawn seems wedded to the dark,
Wavering up like an embodied hymn.
Let me also with thy wisdom know
That soft music of the lower world,
Drunk by love that sees the grasses grow
As their shoots in shadow are uncurl'd.
I am sure that God Himself is near
Thee and every pretty way of thine,
And the thoughts that only angels hear
In thy breast with life and death entwine.
Chanteth highest when the heavens are dim
And the dawn seems wedded to the dark,
Wavering up like an embodied hymn.
Let me also with thy wisdom know
That soft music of the lower world,
Drunk by love that sees the grasses grow
As their shoots in shadow are uncurl'd.
I am sure that God Himself is near
Thee and every pretty way of thine,
And the thoughts that only angels hear
In thy breast with life and death entwine.
| English Roses | |