 | Collected poems |  |
334
UNMEET
No, it was not our own,
That high delight;
It came with grass and flowers,
As day and night,
A breath from heavenly powers
That still delight.
That high delight;
It came with grass and flowers,
As day and night,
A breath from heavenly powers
That still delight.
The innocents of earth,
Her grass, her flowers,
May mingle in the play
Of heavenly powers,
Who burned our life away
In what brief hours.
Her grass, her flowers,
May mingle in the play
Of heavenly powers,
Who burned our life away
In what brief hours.
| Collected poems | |