WINTER FLOWERS
WHEN tree and bush are comfortless,And fields are piteous bare,A garden blooms upon my hearth,And it is summer there.From the gray log's quiescent lengthBurst the bright flowers of flame,—Like the far flashings of the stars,Too rare for earthly name.Now rosy-hearted, rosy tipt,Their petals softly blow;Now clear as water in the sun,When the blue sky lies below.And daintily they toss and swayTo the breath of soundless airs,—The memories of wooing windsThat made the forest theirs.O for the secret that the sunShares with the burning tree!Elusive sweet as the witching flowOf water to the sea.In thought I grasp the mystic word,And lo! it hath no form.I only know 'tis dark without,And here 'tis light and warm.
WHEN tree and bush are comfortless,And fields are piteous bare,A garden blooms upon my hearth,And it is summer there.From the gray log's quiescent lengthBurst the bright flowers of flame,—Like the far flashings of the stars,Too rare for earthly name.Now rosy-hearted, rosy tipt,Their petals softly blow;Now clear as water in the sun,When the blue sky lies below.And daintily they toss and swayTo the breath of soundless airs,—The memories of wooing windsThat made the forest theirs.O for the secret that the sunShares with the burning tree!Elusive sweet as the witching flowOf water to the sea.In thought I grasp the mystic word,And lo! it hath no form.I only know 'tis dark without,And here 'tis light and warm.
WHEN tree and bush are comfortless,And fields are piteous bare,A garden blooms upon my hearth,And it is summer there.
WHEN tree and bush are comfortless,
And fields are piteous bare,
A garden blooms upon my hearth,
And it is summer there.
From the gray log's quiescent lengthBurst the bright flowers of flame,—Like the far flashings of the stars,Too rare for earthly name.
From the gray log's quiescent length
Burst the bright flowers of flame,—
Like the far flashings of the stars,
Too rare for earthly name.
Now rosy-hearted, rosy tipt,Their petals softly blow;Now clear as water in the sun,When the blue sky lies below.
Now rosy-hearted, rosy tipt,
Their petals softly blow;
Now clear as water in the sun,
When the blue sky lies below.
And daintily they toss and swayTo the breath of soundless airs,—The memories of wooing windsThat made the forest theirs.
And daintily they toss and sway
To the breath of soundless airs,—
The memories of wooing winds
That made the forest theirs.
O for the secret that the sunShares with the burning tree!Elusive sweet as the witching flowOf water to the sea.
O for the secret that the sun
Shares with the burning tree!
Elusive sweet as the witching flow
Of water to the sea.
In thought I grasp the mystic word,And lo! it hath no form.I only know 'tis dark without,And here 'tis light and warm.
In thought I grasp the mystic word,
And lo! it hath no form.
I only know 'tis dark without,
And here 'tis light and warm.