 | Here be blue and white violets from the garden wherein grew meadowsweet |  |
DESPAIR.
Ah, when I think that all is gone,
Thy presence and thy comforting,
I would my soul were as a stone
The urchin drops into a spring—
A stone to sink and not again
Feel the boy's hand or break the rain!
Thy presence and thy comforting,
I would my soul were as a stone
The urchin drops into a spring—
A stone to sink and not again
Feel the boy's hand or break the rain!
I would renounce my lease of mind,
And be a fruitless garden-clod
Too base for maids on me to find
The simplest blossom of their God.
O that I ever thought or loved,
Hoped, and so melancholy proved!
And be a fruitless garden-clod
Too base for maids on me to find
The simplest blossom of their God.
O that I ever thought or loved,
Hoped, and so melancholy proved!
| Here be blue and white violets from the garden wherein grew meadowsweet | |