IN SILENCE.
31
The summer rain falls down to bless
The thirsty world it murmurs o'er;
And so in wordless happiness
I give, and ask no more.
The thirsty world it murmurs o'er;
And so in wordless happiness
I give, and ask no more.
I note full well thy heedless air,
From thy cold eyes I turn away;
I know I have no portion there;
But I can wait, and pray.
From thy cold eyes I turn away;
I know I have no portion there;
But I can wait, and pray.
Perhaps,—I make no idling sure,—
Perhaps in years long hence,
That other world, so bright and pure,
May make me recompense.
Perhaps in years long hence,
That other world, so bright and pure,
May make me recompense.
IN SILENCE.
A long low line of blue hills toward the west,
Above them lingering still a crimson stain,—
A purple shade of azure in the east,
And lying under it a grass-grown plain.
Above them lingering still a crimson stain,—
A purple shade of azure in the east,
And lying under it a grass-grown plain.
A river broad and deep, with wooded shores,
Bearing upon its breast a boat snow-white,—
An idle rower leaning on the oars,
And drifting with the silence and the night.
Bearing upon its breast a boat snow-white,—
An idle rower leaning on the oars,
And drifting with the silence and the night.
The birds, so wearied with the day's sweet songs,
Have sought their eyries in the forest-trees;
Not even a lonesome nightingale prolongs
The wild wood concert with her melodies.
Have sought their eyries in the forest-trees;
Not even a lonesome nightingale prolongs
The wild wood concert with her melodies.
