MUSE AND MINT
Imusedupon the strangeness of all things,So different from the dreamWhereof the morning mounted up on wingsAbove the world agleamWith light that trembled into life and loveAs when a censer swingsAnd joy of promise sings—“The dream whereofThe gleam aboveThe world is love!”Oh, bitterness to muse and neither findThe beauty of the MuseNor yet the music which the soul divinedEre set the rosy huesIn sombre lines that disenchant and fretThe heart with growing griefWhich struggles for relief—“O Muse, but letMy spirit yetThe rue forget!”As if to answer me a little child,To whom the sunshine’s glintWas gloom forever, on the corner smiledAnd vended sprigs of mint,As though there were in blindness still a bloomAnd fragrance which could reachThe passer-by and teach—“In glint or gloomThere’s mint in bloomTo earth perfume!”
Imusedupon the strangeness of all things,So different from the dreamWhereof the morning mounted up on wingsAbove the world agleamWith light that trembled into life and loveAs when a censer swingsAnd joy of promise sings—“The dream whereofThe gleam aboveThe world is love!”Oh, bitterness to muse and neither findThe beauty of the MuseNor yet the music which the soul divinedEre set the rosy huesIn sombre lines that disenchant and fretThe heart with growing griefWhich struggles for relief—“O Muse, but letMy spirit yetThe rue forget!”As if to answer me a little child,To whom the sunshine’s glintWas gloom forever, on the corner smiledAnd vended sprigs of mint,As though there were in blindness still a bloomAnd fragrance which could reachThe passer-by and teach—“In glint or gloomThere’s mint in bloomTo earth perfume!”
Imusedupon the strangeness of all things,So different from the dreamWhereof the morning mounted up on wingsAbove the world agleamWith light that trembled into life and loveAs when a censer swingsAnd joy of promise sings—“The dream whereofThe gleam aboveThe world is love!”
Imusedupon the strangeness of all things,
So different from the dream
Whereof the morning mounted up on wings
Above the world agleam
With light that trembled into life and love
As when a censer swings
And joy of promise sings—
“The dream whereof
The gleam above
The world is love!”
Oh, bitterness to muse and neither findThe beauty of the MuseNor yet the music which the soul divinedEre set the rosy huesIn sombre lines that disenchant and fretThe heart with growing griefWhich struggles for relief—“O Muse, but letMy spirit yetThe rue forget!”
Oh, bitterness to muse and neither find
The beauty of the Muse
Nor yet the music which the soul divined
Ere set the rosy hues
In sombre lines that disenchant and fret
The heart with growing grief
Which struggles for relief—
“O Muse, but let
My spirit yet
The rue forget!”
As if to answer me a little child,To whom the sunshine’s glintWas gloom forever, on the corner smiledAnd vended sprigs of mint,As though there were in blindness still a bloomAnd fragrance which could reachThe passer-by and teach—“In glint or gloomThere’s mint in bloomTo earth perfume!”
As if to answer me a little child,
To whom the sunshine’s glint
Was gloom forever, on the corner smiled
And vended sprigs of mint,
As though there were in blindness still a bloom
And fragrance which could reach
The passer-by and teach—
“In glint or gloom
There’s mint in bloom
To earth perfume!”