 | English Roses |  |
108
UNFLEDGED.
My Birdie, now upon the edge
Of larger life,
But hugging still the last home ledge
Beyond the strife;
Ere venturing farther higher on,
As other playmates forth have gone
Into the years;
And trembling on the wider scope
Of unimaginable hope,
Illumed by tears;
Yet dost thou stay each ardent wing,
And to the nest and shadow cling
Of larger life,
But hugging still the last home ledge
Beyond the strife;
Ere venturing farther higher on,
As other playmates forth have gone
Into the years;
And trembling on the wider scope
Of unimaginable hope,
Illumed by tears;
Yet dost thou stay each ardent wing,
And to the nest and shadow cling
But thou art forming for the flight
Secure at length,
Though facing the rude north or night
In virgin strength;
Equipt with that which cannot fail,
Though it may sometimes err and ail
From mingled good,
The gentle and most awful power
Which is our God's divinest dower—
Of maidenhood.
Then thou, if sadly, shalt be spared
To leave the shelter, when prepared.
Secure at length,
Though facing the rude north or night
In virgin strength;
Equipt with that which cannot fail,
Though it may sometimes err and ail
From mingled good,
The gentle and most awful power
Which is our God's divinest dower—
Of maidenhood.
Then thou, if sadly, shalt be spared
To leave the shelter, when prepared.
My nestling, I am sure how fleet
Thou wouldest fly
Abroad in youth's uncharted sweet
Infinity;
Nor do I wish to prison long
Thy pretty path of love and song,
When truly fit:
Nay, I would speed thy passage more,
To reach a new and vaster shore
And gaily flit;
But outside flints are fiercely wedged,
And still thy bosom is unfledged.
Thou wouldest fly
Abroad in youth's uncharted sweet
Infinity;
Nor do I wish to prison long
Thy pretty path of love and song,
When truly fit:
Nay, I would speed thy passage more,
To reach a new and vaster shore
And gaily flit;
But outside flints are fiercely wedged,
And still thy bosom is unfledged.
109
O just a little watch and wait
The fuller times,
Although this refuge be more strait
Than distant climes;
Thy feathers yet shall fairer grow,
And that dear heart of music know
A richer tune;
Each hour shall gather beauty, till
The coldest winter months of ill
Are ever June.
I would not keep thy presence bright,
When ready for another's light.
The fuller times,
Although this refuge be more strait
Than distant climes;
Thy feathers yet shall fairer grow,
And that dear heart of music know
A richer tune;
Each hour shall gather beauty, till
The coldest winter months of ill
Are ever June.
I would not keep thy presence bright,
When ready for another's light.
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