THE WORLDSI saw an idler on a summer dayPiping with Iris by a dancing brook;And all his world was rife with Pleasures gay,And languid Follies smiled from every nook.I saw an artist in a world of dreams,His rainbow rising from his radiant task,To throw its magic prism beamsO’er Fancy’s changeful masque and counter-masque.I saw Toil—stooping underneath a worldWhereon his foster-brothers lighter tread,His skyward pinions ever closer furledBefore the grim necessity of bread!I saw a sinner working hard to beWorthy his death-wage from the mint of time;I saw a sailor, unto whom the seaWas hearth and hope and love and wedding-chime.I saw a mother living in her child—I saw a saint among his fellow men—Brave soldiery before my eyes defiledAnd solemn-hearted scholars—Sudden thenI cried: “The stars are no less neighborlyIn their ethereal remoteness swung,Than these near human orbits wherein weLive out our lives and speak our chosen tongue!“Love seek through all—less there be oneLeast soul unlit within the night—And over all, the selfsame sunGive each creation light!”MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON BIANCHI
I saw an idler on a summer dayPiping with Iris by a dancing brook;And all his world was rife with Pleasures gay,And languid Follies smiled from every nook.I saw an artist in a world of dreams,His rainbow rising from his radiant task,To throw its magic prism beamsO’er Fancy’s changeful masque and counter-masque.I saw Toil—stooping underneath a worldWhereon his foster-brothers lighter tread,His skyward pinions ever closer furledBefore the grim necessity of bread!I saw a sinner working hard to beWorthy his death-wage from the mint of time;I saw a sailor, unto whom the seaWas hearth and hope and love and wedding-chime.I saw a mother living in her child—I saw a saint among his fellow men—Brave soldiery before my eyes defiledAnd solemn-hearted scholars—Sudden thenI cried: “The stars are no less neighborlyIn their ethereal remoteness swung,Than these near human orbits wherein weLive out our lives and speak our chosen tongue!“Love seek through all—less there be oneLeast soul unlit within the night—And over all, the selfsame sunGive each creation light!”
MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON BIANCHI