BENEATH THE MOON.
41
What pain, sometimes, a flower, or sweet scent, brings
From ashes that we thought had lost all glow!
A touch, a tone, a breath,—ah, human heart!
How strangely fashioned, governed, moved, thou art!
From ashes that we thought had lost all glow!
A touch, a tone, a breath,—ah, human heart!
How strangely fashioned, governed, moved, thou art!
The maple's flame that lights the autumn hills,
The wasted gold of these wild woodland ways,—
The damp, sweet, bosky vapor that distills
On purple ridges, all recall lost days;
And cloudless sunsets do for evermore
Restore me something of the Gone Before.
The wasted gold of these wild woodland ways,—
The damp, sweet, bosky vapor that distills
On purple ridges, all recall lost days;
And cloudless sunsets do for evermore
Restore me something of the Gone Before.
There are grand gleams of an immortal life
Lying beyond this brief elapse of Time,
And our hegira from this troublous strife,
Though weakly dreaded, is a thing sublime!
To blend all Time, Space, Past, and all To Come,
Into one Present in that perfect home!
Lying beyond this brief elapse of Time,
And our hegira from this troublous strife,
Though weakly dreaded, is a thing sublime!
To blend all Time, Space, Past, and all To Come,
Into one Present in that perfect home!
BENEATH THE MOON.
Under the moon how the still waters gleam!
The silver is over the breast of the stream;
The cream-white lilies droop languidly down,
In fragrance the red roses sleepily drown;
The feathery willow-trees shimmer and shine,
The dew lies in diamonds upon the wild vine;
The asphodel closes its nectarous cup,
The passion-flower folds its rare beauty up;
And the scent of the thyme, and the mint, and the balm,
Floats out on the wings of the infinite calm.
The silver is over the breast of the stream;
The cream-white lilies droop languidly down,
In fragrance the red roses sleepily drown;
The feathery willow-trees shimmer and shine,
The dew lies in diamonds upon the wild vine;
The asphodel closes its nectarous cup,
The passion-flower folds its rare beauty up;
And the scent of the thyme, and the mint, and the balm,
Floats out on the wings of the infinite calm.
