THE TWO ANGELS
Once Youth and Innocence, side by side,With flaming swords at a garden gateStood forth in silence, to watch and wait,Lest lust and evil their might defied.Love's rarest fruits in that garden grew,And lo! a Pilgrim of pain and sinGrown tired, would gladly have entered in,And washed his soul in the gleaming dew.He looked at Youth, and the Angel said:"Behold me young, and behold me weak;If you but crush me, the joy you seekShall quench desire on a rose-strewn bed,"Yet oh! I pray you another hour,For should you enter this Holy place,My soul is given again to space,And I must die as a blighted flower."Then all the sorrow and all the shame,That life had taught him to understand,Rose up, and fettered the Pilgrim's hand,And murmur'd: "Youth is a sacred name."He looked at Innocence, nude and white,And all unconscious she met his gaze;Her eyes were soft as an evening haze,Her red lips fashioned to give delight.She sighed, "I know not the boon you ask,But Nature sent me to guard the wayThat leads to realms of Eternal day;I may not shrink from the Mother's task."Yet these fair limbs that are pure as snow,Should you but sully by thought or deedMust droop and fade as a broken reed,That every wind of the earth may blow."Then all the goodness that he had missed,Each dream of sweetness that passed him by,Rose up, and cried: "Thou shalt still denyThyself"—and Innocence stood unkissed.
Once Youth and Innocence, side by side,With flaming swords at a garden gateStood forth in silence, to watch and wait,Lest lust and evil their might defied.Love's rarest fruits in that garden grew,And lo! a Pilgrim of pain and sinGrown tired, would gladly have entered in,And washed his soul in the gleaming dew.He looked at Youth, and the Angel said:"Behold me young, and behold me weak;If you but crush me, the joy you seekShall quench desire on a rose-strewn bed,"Yet oh! I pray you another hour,For should you enter this Holy place,My soul is given again to space,And I must die as a blighted flower."Then all the sorrow and all the shame,That life had taught him to understand,Rose up, and fettered the Pilgrim's hand,And murmur'd: "Youth is a sacred name."He looked at Innocence, nude and white,And all unconscious she met his gaze;Her eyes were soft as an evening haze,Her red lips fashioned to give delight.She sighed, "I know not the boon you ask,But Nature sent me to guard the wayThat leads to realms of Eternal day;I may not shrink from the Mother's task."Yet these fair limbs that are pure as snow,Should you but sully by thought or deedMust droop and fade as a broken reed,That every wind of the earth may blow."Then all the goodness that he had missed,Each dream of sweetness that passed him by,Rose up, and cried: "Thou shalt still denyThyself"—and Innocence stood unkissed.
Once Youth and Innocence, side by side,With flaming swords at a garden gateStood forth in silence, to watch and wait,Lest lust and evil their might defied.
Once Youth and Innocence, side by side,
With flaming swords at a garden gate
Stood forth in silence, to watch and wait,
Lest lust and evil their might defied.
Love's rarest fruits in that garden grew,And lo! a Pilgrim of pain and sinGrown tired, would gladly have entered in,And washed his soul in the gleaming dew.
Love's rarest fruits in that garden grew,
And lo! a Pilgrim of pain and sin
Grown tired, would gladly have entered in,
And washed his soul in the gleaming dew.
He looked at Youth, and the Angel said:"Behold me young, and behold me weak;If you but crush me, the joy you seekShall quench desire on a rose-strewn bed,
He looked at Youth, and the Angel said:
"Behold me young, and behold me weak;
If you but crush me, the joy you seek
Shall quench desire on a rose-strewn bed,
"Yet oh! I pray you another hour,For should you enter this Holy place,My soul is given again to space,And I must die as a blighted flower."
"Yet oh! I pray you another hour,
For should you enter this Holy place,
My soul is given again to space,
And I must die as a blighted flower."
Then all the sorrow and all the shame,That life had taught him to understand,Rose up, and fettered the Pilgrim's hand,And murmur'd: "Youth is a sacred name."
Then all the sorrow and all the shame,
That life had taught him to understand,
Rose up, and fettered the Pilgrim's hand,
And murmur'd: "Youth is a sacred name."
He looked at Innocence, nude and white,And all unconscious she met his gaze;Her eyes were soft as an evening haze,Her red lips fashioned to give delight.
He looked at Innocence, nude and white,
And all unconscious she met his gaze;
Her eyes were soft as an evening haze,
Her red lips fashioned to give delight.
She sighed, "I know not the boon you ask,But Nature sent me to guard the wayThat leads to realms of Eternal day;I may not shrink from the Mother's task.
She sighed, "I know not the boon you ask,
But Nature sent me to guard the way
That leads to realms of Eternal day;
I may not shrink from the Mother's task.
"Yet these fair limbs that are pure as snow,Should you but sully by thought or deedMust droop and fade as a broken reed,That every wind of the earth may blow."
"Yet these fair limbs that are pure as snow,
Should you but sully by thought or deed
Must droop and fade as a broken reed,
That every wind of the earth may blow."
Then all the goodness that he had missed,Each dream of sweetness that passed him by,Rose up, and cried: "Thou shalt still denyThyself"—and Innocence stood unkissed.
Then all the goodness that he had missed,
Each dream of sweetness that passed him by,
Rose up, and cried: "Thou shalt still deny
Thyself"—and Innocence stood unkissed.
A road disused these many years,O'er which the grass has grownBetween two rows of silent pines,That stretch in straight, unbroken linesAway to plains unknown.Long ruts that passing wagons madeIn days whose records dieForm trenches for the frailer flowers,That timid of more open bowersSecure in hiding lie.And in those deep impressions there,Where patient beasts have trod,With stems in dainty green array,And faces turned to meet the day,Grow sprays of golden-rod,'Mid sunbeams slanting thro' the woodThe ardent AfternoonSteals like a lover fond, and dumb,Upon his mistress Earth, o'ercomeWith many a tender boon;And that she sooner shall respondTo his awakening fires,He summons from each fairy gladeWee winged things, to serenadeThis nymph of his desires.So full of mystic power and lifeIs this forgotten placeThat I may scarcely dare intrudeMy presence and my lighter mood,Lest stepping I defaceSome masterpiece of moss or bloom,That Dryad hands have wrought,Perchance my very humannessMay make this potent charm the less,That solitude has taught.I fear to tread upon a branch,For if beneath my feetIt breaks 'twould thus affright the birdWhose tender music I have heardIn yonder green retreat;And who am I that I should dareGainsay the Noon's behest;Or penetrate this peaceful sphere,And bring an agony of fearTo some dumb creature's breast?Within this forest night and dayAn endless hymn of praiseFrom out the heart of Nature wells,That once again perfection dwellsIn her profanèd ways,That living green conceals the scarsMade by relentless man,While in the deepest sylvan gladesSound faint and far thro' emerald shadesThe crystal pipes of Pan.
A road disused these many years,O'er which the grass has grownBetween two rows of silent pines,That stretch in straight, unbroken linesAway to plains unknown.Long ruts that passing wagons madeIn days whose records dieForm trenches for the frailer flowers,That timid of more open bowersSecure in hiding lie.And in those deep impressions there,Where patient beasts have trod,With stems in dainty green array,And faces turned to meet the day,Grow sprays of golden-rod,'Mid sunbeams slanting thro' the woodThe ardent AfternoonSteals like a lover fond, and dumb,Upon his mistress Earth, o'ercomeWith many a tender boon;And that she sooner shall respondTo his awakening fires,He summons from each fairy gladeWee winged things, to serenadeThis nymph of his desires.So full of mystic power and lifeIs this forgotten placeThat I may scarcely dare intrudeMy presence and my lighter mood,Lest stepping I defaceSome masterpiece of moss or bloom,That Dryad hands have wrought,Perchance my very humannessMay make this potent charm the less,That solitude has taught.I fear to tread upon a branch,For if beneath my feetIt breaks 'twould thus affright the birdWhose tender music I have heardIn yonder green retreat;And who am I that I should dareGainsay the Noon's behest;Or penetrate this peaceful sphere,And bring an agony of fearTo some dumb creature's breast?Within this forest night and dayAn endless hymn of praiseFrom out the heart of Nature wells,That once again perfection dwellsIn her profanèd ways,That living green conceals the scarsMade by relentless man,While in the deepest sylvan gladesSound faint and far thro' emerald shadesThe crystal pipes of Pan.
A road disused these many years,O'er which the grass has grownBetween two rows of silent pines,That stretch in straight, unbroken linesAway to plains unknown.
A road disused these many years,
O'er which the grass has grown
Between two rows of silent pines,
That stretch in straight, unbroken lines
Away to plains unknown.
Long ruts that passing wagons madeIn days whose records dieForm trenches for the frailer flowers,That timid of more open bowersSecure in hiding lie.
Long ruts that passing wagons made
In days whose records die
Form trenches for the frailer flowers,
That timid of more open bowers
Secure in hiding lie.
And in those deep impressions there,Where patient beasts have trod,With stems in dainty green array,And faces turned to meet the day,Grow sprays of golden-rod,
And in those deep impressions there,
Where patient beasts have trod,
With stems in dainty green array,
And faces turned to meet the day,
Grow sprays of golden-rod,
'Mid sunbeams slanting thro' the woodThe ardent AfternoonSteals like a lover fond, and dumb,Upon his mistress Earth, o'ercomeWith many a tender boon;
'Mid sunbeams slanting thro' the wood
The ardent Afternoon
Steals like a lover fond, and dumb,
Upon his mistress Earth, o'ercome
With many a tender boon;
And that she sooner shall respondTo his awakening fires,He summons from each fairy gladeWee winged things, to serenadeThis nymph of his desires.
And that she sooner shall respond
To his awakening fires,
He summons from each fairy glade
Wee winged things, to serenade
This nymph of his desires.
So full of mystic power and lifeIs this forgotten placeThat I may scarcely dare intrudeMy presence and my lighter mood,Lest stepping I deface
So full of mystic power and life
Is this forgotten place
That I may scarcely dare intrude
My presence and my lighter mood,
Lest stepping I deface
Some masterpiece of moss or bloom,That Dryad hands have wrought,Perchance my very humannessMay make this potent charm the less,That solitude has taught.
Some masterpiece of moss or bloom,
That Dryad hands have wrought,
Perchance my very humanness
May make this potent charm the less,
That solitude has taught.
I fear to tread upon a branch,For if beneath my feetIt breaks 'twould thus affright the birdWhose tender music I have heardIn yonder green retreat;
I fear to tread upon a branch,
For if beneath my feet
It breaks 'twould thus affright the bird
Whose tender music I have heard
In yonder green retreat;
And who am I that I should dareGainsay the Noon's behest;Or penetrate this peaceful sphere,And bring an agony of fearTo some dumb creature's breast?
And who am I that I should dare
Gainsay the Noon's behest;
Or penetrate this peaceful sphere,
And bring an agony of fear
To some dumb creature's breast?
Within this forest night and dayAn endless hymn of praiseFrom out the heart of Nature wells,That once again perfection dwellsIn her profanèd ways,
Within this forest night and day
An endless hymn of praise
From out the heart of Nature wells,
That once again perfection dwells
In her profanèd ways,
That living green conceals the scarsMade by relentless man,While in the deepest sylvan gladesSound faint and far thro' emerald shadesThe crystal pipes of Pan.
That living green conceals the scars
Made by relentless man,
While in the deepest sylvan glades
Sound faint and far thro' emerald shades
The crystal pipes of Pan.
I sought at dawn for the sweet white heather,In hiding among the blue,The earth was warm with the summer weather,The flowers still damp with dew.I moved a stone with my foot in walking,A lizard ran out in fear,Two tiny streams to each other talkingComplained that I came so near.And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new-born Day,Oh! help me to gather some rare white heatherSweet Morning, show me the way!A big stag beetle crawled close in wonder,A grasshopper chirped of rain,A bee just pushing some flowers asunderBuzzed loud in his vast disdain.The pines swayed gently, as though with laughter,They knew what I came to seek!A thistledown that the breeze ran afterBrushed lightly against my cheek.And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new born Day,Oh! help me to gather some rare white heather,Sweet Morning, show me the way!A trout jumped high with a rainbow shudder,To see how the mortals look,Then swayed his tail like a silver rudder,And swam away in the brook.I think I heard all the Pixies saying"No heather that's white you'll find!"I know I saw little Gnome-folk playingWhere shadowy boughs reclined—And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new born Day,O help me to gather some rare white heather,Sweet Morning, show me the way!Alas! alas! for the fairy flower,My feet grew weary in vain,I sought for luck thro' each sunlit bower,To find it truant again.Then while I paused on the side of the mountainThe stillness was cleft apart,And Morning cried "He who seeks white heatherMust find it deep in his heart!"
I sought at dawn for the sweet white heather,In hiding among the blue,The earth was warm with the summer weather,The flowers still damp with dew.I moved a stone with my foot in walking,A lizard ran out in fear,Two tiny streams to each other talkingComplained that I came so near.And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new-born Day,Oh! help me to gather some rare white heatherSweet Morning, show me the way!A big stag beetle crawled close in wonder,A grasshopper chirped of rain,A bee just pushing some flowers asunderBuzzed loud in his vast disdain.The pines swayed gently, as though with laughter,They knew what I came to seek!A thistledown that the breeze ran afterBrushed lightly against my cheek.And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new born Day,Oh! help me to gather some rare white heather,Sweet Morning, show me the way!A trout jumped high with a rainbow shudder,To see how the mortals look,Then swayed his tail like a silver rudder,And swam away in the brook.I think I heard all the Pixies saying"No heather that's white you'll find!"I know I saw little Gnome-folk playingWhere shadowy boughs reclined—And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new born Day,O help me to gather some rare white heather,Sweet Morning, show me the way!Alas! alas! for the fairy flower,My feet grew weary in vain,I sought for luck thro' each sunlit bower,To find it truant again.Then while I paused on the side of the mountainThe stillness was cleft apart,And Morning cried "He who seeks white heatherMust find it deep in his heart!"
I sought at dawn for the sweet white heather,In hiding among the blue,The earth was warm with the summer weather,The flowers still damp with dew.
I sought at dawn for the sweet white heather,
In hiding among the blue,
The earth was warm with the summer weather,
The flowers still damp with dew.
I moved a stone with my foot in walking,A lizard ran out in fear,Two tiny streams to each other talkingComplained that I came so near.
I moved a stone with my foot in walking,
A lizard ran out in fear,
Two tiny streams to each other talking
Complained that I came so near.
And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new-born Day,Oh! help me to gather some rare white heatherSweet Morning, show me the way!
And all alone on the side of the mountain
I spoke to the new-born Day,
Oh! help me to gather some rare white heather
Sweet Morning, show me the way!
A big stag beetle crawled close in wonder,A grasshopper chirped of rain,A bee just pushing some flowers asunderBuzzed loud in his vast disdain.
A big stag beetle crawled close in wonder,
A grasshopper chirped of rain,
A bee just pushing some flowers asunder
Buzzed loud in his vast disdain.
The pines swayed gently, as though with laughter,They knew what I came to seek!A thistledown that the breeze ran afterBrushed lightly against my cheek.
The pines swayed gently, as though with laughter,
They knew what I came to seek!
A thistledown that the breeze ran after
Brushed lightly against my cheek.
And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new born Day,Oh! help me to gather some rare white heather,Sweet Morning, show me the way!
And all alone on the side of the mountain
I spoke to the new born Day,
Oh! help me to gather some rare white heather,
Sweet Morning, show me the way!
A trout jumped high with a rainbow shudder,To see how the mortals look,Then swayed his tail like a silver rudder,And swam away in the brook.
A trout jumped high with a rainbow shudder,
To see how the mortals look,
Then swayed his tail like a silver rudder,
And swam away in the brook.
I think I heard all the Pixies saying"No heather that's white you'll find!"I know I saw little Gnome-folk playingWhere shadowy boughs reclined—
I think I heard all the Pixies saying
"No heather that's white you'll find!"
I know I saw little Gnome-folk playing
Where shadowy boughs reclined—
And all alone on the side of the mountainI spoke to the new born Day,O help me to gather some rare white heather,Sweet Morning, show me the way!
And all alone on the side of the mountain
I spoke to the new born Day,
O help me to gather some rare white heather,
Sweet Morning, show me the way!
Alas! alas! for the fairy flower,My feet grew weary in vain,I sought for luck thro' each sunlit bower,To find it truant again.
Alas! alas! for the fairy flower,
My feet grew weary in vain,
I sought for luck thro' each sunlit bower,
To find it truant again.
Then while I paused on the side of the mountainThe stillness was cleft apart,And Morning cried "He who seeks white heatherMust find it deep in his heart!"
Then while I paused on the side of the mountain
The stillness was cleft apart,
And Morning cried "He who seeks white heather
Must find it deep in his heart!"
I stood beside you in the dark,And felt the magic of the nightSteal o'er my senses, 'til they swooned,And mists of passion dimmed my sight.The stillness made me dumb, those wordsI dared not utter choked my breath,Each crushing each, as mad with lifeThey rose, to die a silent death.My lips grew dry beneath the fireOf kisses that they feign would give,And every pulse, with answering beat,Throbbed in its eagerness to live.
I stood beside you in the dark,And felt the magic of the nightSteal o'er my senses, 'til they swooned,And mists of passion dimmed my sight.The stillness made me dumb, those wordsI dared not utter choked my breath,Each crushing each, as mad with lifeThey rose, to die a silent death.My lips grew dry beneath the fireOf kisses that they feign would give,And every pulse, with answering beat,Throbbed in its eagerness to live.
I stood beside you in the dark,And felt the magic of the nightSteal o'er my senses, 'til they swooned,And mists of passion dimmed my sight.
I stood beside you in the dark,
And felt the magic of the night
Steal o'er my senses, 'til they swooned,
And mists of passion dimmed my sight.
The stillness made me dumb, those wordsI dared not utter choked my breath,Each crushing each, as mad with lifeThey rose, to die a silent death.
The stillness made me dumb, those words
I dared not utter choked my breath,
Each crushing each, as mad with life
They rose, to die a silent death.
My lips grew dry beneath the fireOf kisses that they feign would give,And every pulse, with answering beat,Throbbed in its eagerness to live.
My lips grew dry beneath the fire
Of kisses that they feign would give,
And every pulse, with answering beat,
Throbbed in its eagerness to live.
Dear Ghost, across a wind-swept sphereYou wander back again to me,And I am not afraid, for seeI bid you rest beside me here!I press your icy lips to mine,Since you and I are almost oneCan I condemn what you have doneTo render fruitless the divine?Some day perchance our weary taskMay finish, and we two will standBefore the Maker, hand in hand,There will be much that we shall ask!
Dear Ghost, across a wind-swept sphereYou wander back again to me,And I am not afraid, for seeI bid you rest beside me here!I press your icy lips to mine,Since you and I are almost oneCan I condemn what you have doneTo render fruitless the divine?Some day perchance our weary taskMay finish, and we two will standBefore the Maker, hand in hand,There will be much that we shall ask!
Dear Ghost, across a wind-swept sphereYou wander back again to me,And I am not afraid, for seeI bid you rest beside me here!
Dear Ghost, across a wind-swept sphere
You wander back again to me,
And I am not afraid, for see
I bid you rest beside me here!
I press your icy lips to mine,Since you and I are almost oneCan I condemn what you have doneTo render fruitless the divine?
I press your icy lips to mine,
Since you and I are almost one
Can I condemn what you have done
To render fruitless the divine?
Some day perchance our weary taskMay finish, and we two will standBefore the Maker, hand in hand,There will be much that we shall ask!
Some day perchance our weary task
May finish, and we two will stand
Before the Maker, hand in hand,
There will be much that we shall ask!
The heat of the mid-day has smitten the forest-land dumb!The mountains are closing their eyes in a languorous dream,The boulders stand stark, where the torrents once hastened to come,For Earth in her passion is wholly consuming their stream.The ardour and terror of living is rife in the air,The air that is breathless, and stranger to motion or sound,A rapture so potent it seems near akin to despairIs drawing the life-blood in mist, from the sun-ravished ground.And out thro' this region grown tense with creation's desire,Inconsequent, fragile as thistledown wafted by breeze,Two butterflies flutter, like snow-flakes that fall upon fire,Far into the flame-land, that stretches away from the trees.White butterflies, innocent-looking and soft as a sigh,In quest of what blossoms, what mystical pleasures, who knows?Close one to the other they hover now low and now high,Like thoughts that are breathed from the heart of an opening rose.Vague spirits that drift o'er the infinite tide of the earth,As jewels of foam, on the passion-torn breast of the sea,They know not the hour of their ending, the cause of their birth,A moment of time or a year, they rejoice but to be!Around them the problem of life, with its pain and its joy,Impregnates the noon with a sense of some marvellous power,Above them, grown potent with strength to create or destroy,The shafts of the sun, that have smitten and withered the flower.And still with frail bodies unmoved by the vastness of thingsThese fairy white butterflies flutter like spirits of light,They pause for an instant, then spreading their tremulous wings,Fly into the infinite, fading away from my sight.
The heat of the mid-day has smitten the forest-land dumb!The mountains are closing their eyes in a languorous dream,The boulders stand stark, where the torrents once hastened to come,For Earth in her passion is wholly consuming their stream.The ardour and terror of living is rife in the air,The air that is breathless, and stranger to motion or sound,A rapture so potent it seems near akin to despairIs drawing the life-blood in mist, from the sun-ravished ground.And out thro' this region grown tense with creation's desire,Inconsequent, fragile as thistledown wafted by breeze,Two butterflies flutter, like snow-flakes that fall upon fire,Far into the flame-land, that stretches away from the trees.White butterflies, innocent-looking and soft as a sigh,In quest of what blossoms, what mystical pleasures, who knows?Close one to the other they hover now low and now high,Like thoughts that are breathed from the heart of an opening rose.Vague spirits that drift o'er the infinite tide of the earth,As jewels of foam, on the passion-torn breast of the sea,They know not the hour of their ending, the cause of their birth,A moment of time or a year, they rejoice but to be!Around them the problem of life, with its pain and its joy,Impregnates the noon with a sense of some marvellous power,Above them, grown potent with strength to create or destroy,The shafts of the sun, that have smitten and withered the flower.And still with frail bodies unmoved by the vastness of thingsThese fairy white butterflies flutter like spirits of light,They pause for an instant, then spreading their tremulous wings,Fly into the infinite, fading away from my sight.
The heat of the mid-day has smitten the forest-land dumb!The mountains are closing their eyes in a languorous dream,The boulders stand stark, where the torrents once hastened to come,For Earth in her passion is wholly consuming their stream.
The heat of the mid-day has smitten the forest-land dumb!
The mountains are closing their eyes in a languorous dream,
The boulders stand stark, where the torrents once hastened to come,
For Earth in her passion is wholly consuming their stream.
The ardour and terror of living is rife in the air,The air that is breathless, and stranger to motion or sound,A rapture so potent it seems near akin to despairIs drawing the life-blood in mist, from the sun-ravished ground.
The ardour and terror of living is rife in the air,
The air that is breathless, and stranger to motion or sound,
A rapture so potent it seems near akin to despair
Is drawing the life-blood in mist, from the sun-ravished ground.
And out thro' this region grown tense with creation's desire,Inconsequent, fragile as thistledown wafted by breeze,Two butterflies flutter, like snow-flakes that fall upon fire,Far into the flame-land, that stretches away from the trees.
And out thro' this region grown tense with creation's desire,
Inconsequent, fragile as thistledown wafted by breeze,
Two butterflies flutter, like snow-flakes that fall upon fire,
Far into the flame-land, that stretches away from the trees.
White butterflies, innocent-looking and soft as a sigh,In quest of what blossoms, what mystical pleasures, who knows?Close one to the other they hover now low and now high,Like thoughts that are breathed from the heart of an opening rose.
White butterflies, innocent-looking and soft as a sigh,
In quest of what blossoms, what mystical pleasures, who knows?
Close one to the other they hover now low and now high,
Like thoughts that are breathed from the heart of an opening rose.
Vague spirits that drift o'er the infinite tide of the earth,As jewels of foam, on the passion-torn breast of the sea,They know not the hour of their ending, the cause of their birth,A moment of time or a year, they rejoice but to be!
Vague spirits that drift o'er the infinite tide of the earth,
As jewels of foam, on the passion-torn breast of the sea,
They know not the hour of their ending, the cause of their birth,
A moment of time or a year, they rejoice but to be!
Around them the problem of life, with its pain and its joy,Impregnates the noon with a sense of some marvellous power,Above them, grown potent with strength to create or destroy,The shafts of the sun, that have smitten and withered the flower.
Around them the problem of life, with its pain and its joy,
Impregnates the noon with a sense of some marvellous power,
Above them, grown potent with strength to create or destroy,
The shafts of the sun, that have smitten and withered the flower.
And still with frail bodies unmoved by the vastness of thingsThese fairy white butterflies flutter like spirits of light,They pause for an instant, then spreading their tremulous wings,Fly into the infinite, fading away from my sight.
And still with frail bodies unmoved by the vastness of things
These fairy white butterflies flutter like spirits of light,
They pause for an instant, then spreading their tremulous wings,
Fly into the infinite, fading away from my sight.
A drop of dew that on a rose-bud clings,A ray of sunshine in a world of Springs,A bird, who singing from some hidden tree,Is bathed in streams of endless melody,An open flower you trod on as you passed,The purple shadow that your passing cast,A breath of wind that lingered on your brow,An emerald leaf fresh shaken from the bough,A smile of hope on lips that you delight,A grateful word from one whom you requiteFor some small service, or a little sighThat fans your senses as it flutters by,These things to you how much they mean!While I?...
A drop of dew that on a rose-bud clings,A ray of sunshine in a world of Springs,A bird, who singing from some hidden tree,Is bathed in streams of endless melody,An open flower you trod on as you passed,The purple shadow that your passing cast,A breath of wind that lingered on your brow,An emerald leaf fresh shaken from the bough,A smile of hope on lips that you delight,A grateful word from one whom you requiteFor some small service, or a little sighThat fans your senses as it flutters by,These things to you how much they mean!While I?...
A drop of dew that on a rose-bud clings,A ray of sunshine in a world of Springs,A bird, who singing from some hidden tree,Is bathed in streams of endless melody,
A drop of dew that on a rose-bud clings,
A ray of sunshine in a world of Springs,
A bird, who singing from some hidden tree,
Is bathed in streams of endless melody,
An open flower you trod on as you passed,The purple shadow that your passing cast,A breath of wind that lingered on your brow,An emerald leaf fresh shaken from the bough,
An open flower you trod on as you passed,
The purple shadow that your passing cast,
A breath of wind that lingered on your brow,
An emerald leaf fresh shaken from the bough,
A smile of hope on lips that you delight,A grateful word from one whom you requiteFor some small service, or a little sighThat fans your senses as it flutters by,These things to you how much they mean!While I?...
A smile of hope on lips that you delight,
A grateful word from one whom you requite
For some small service, or a little sigh
That fans your senses as it flutters by,
These things to you how much they mean!
While I?...
A little white Cloud loved the Mountain,She hung in the sky all day,And gazed with rather a timid smileTo where, beneath her full many a mile,The earth and the loved one lay.The Mountain was silent and lonely,And grim in the light of dawn,And ever and aye he cast his eyesIn longing hope to the distant skiesWhere little white clouds are born.Till a breeze in the evening passingTook pity upon her vow,And very tenderly lifted downThe virgin Cloud, till her fleecy crownWas set on the Mountain's brow.And they loved with a silent ardourSo great that she soon was slain,And drop by drop from her tender breastThe life-blood flowed o'er his rock-bound crest,And fell to the earth in rain.But she left him to keep for ever,As solace in endless woeHer soul, and now through the changing years,Come shine, come shade, or come smiles, or tears,It lies on his breast as snow.
A little white Cloud loved the Mountain,She hung in the sky all day,And gazed with rather a timid smileTo where, beneath her full many a mile,The earth and the loved one lay.The Mountain was silent and lonely,And grim in the light of dawn,And ever and aye he cast his eyesIn longing hope to the distant skiesWhere little white clouds are born.Till a breeze in the evening passingTook pity upon her vow,And very tenderly lifted downThe virgin Cloud, till her fleecy crownWas set on the Mountain's brow.And they loved with a silent ardourSo great that she soon was slain,And drop by drop from her tender breastThe life-blood flowed o'er his rock-bound crest,And fell to the earth in rain.But she left him to keep for ever,As solace in endless woeHer soul, and now through the changing years,Come shine, come shade, or come smiles, or tears,It lies on his breast as snow.
A little white Cloud loved the Mountain,She hung in the sky all day,And gazed with rather a timid smileTo where, beneath her full many a mile,The earth and the loved one lay.
A little white Cloud loved the Mountain,
She hung in the sky all day,
And gazed with rather a timid smile
To where, beneath her full many a mile,
The earth and the loved one lay.
The Mountain was silent and lonely,And grim in the light of dawn,And ever and aye he cast his eyesIn longing hope to the distant skiesWhere little white clouds are born.
The Mountain was silent and lonely,
And grim in the light of dawn,
And ever and aye he cast his eyes
In longing hope to the distant skies
Where little white clouds are born.
Till a breeze in the evening passingTook pity upon her vow,And very tenderly lifted downThe virgin Cloud, till her fleecy crownWas set on the Mountain's brow.
Till a breeze in the evening passing
Took pity upon her vow,
And very tenderly lifted down
The virgin Cloud, till her fleecy crown
Was set on the Mountain's brow.
And they loved with a silent ardourSo great that she soon was slain,And drop by drop from her tender breastThe life-blood flowed o'er his rock-bound crest,And fell to the earth in rain.
And they loved with a silent ardour
So great that she soon was slain,
And drop by drop from her tender breast
The life-blood flowed o'er his rock-bound crest,
And fell to the earth in rain.
But she left him to keep for ever,As solace in endless woeHer soul, and now through the changing years,Come shine, come shade, or come smiles, or tears,It lies on his breast as snow.
But she left him to keep for ever,
As solace in endless woe
Her soul, and now through the changing years,
Come shine, come shade, or come smiles, or tears,
It lies on his breast as snow.