Helen Hoyt
Little park that I pass through,I carry off a piece of youEvery morning hurrying downTo my work-day in the town;Carry you for country thereTo make the city ways more fair.I take your trees,And your breeze,Your greenness,Your cleanness,Some of your shade, some of your sky,Some of your calm as I go by;Your flowers to trimThe pavements grim;Your space for room in the jostled streetAnd grass for carpet to my feet.Your fountains take and sweet bird callsTo sing me from my office walls.All that I can seeI carry off with me.But you never miss my theft,So much treasure you have left.As I find you, fresh at morning,So I find you, home returning—Nothing lacking from your grace.All your riches wait in placeFor me to borrowOn the morrow.Do you hear this praise of you,Little park that I pass through?
Little park that I pass through,I carry off a piece of youEvery morning hurrying downTo my work-day in the town;Carry you for country thereTo make the city ways more fair.I take your trees,And your breeze,Your greenness,Your cleanness,Some of your shade, some of your sky,Some of your calm as I go by;Your flowers to trimThe pavements grim;Your space for room in the jostled streetAnd grass for carpet to my feet.Your fountains take and sweet bird callsTo sing me from my office walls.All that I can seeI carry off with me.But you never miss my theft,So much treasure you have left.As I find you, fresh at morning,So I find you, home returning—Nothing lacking from your grace.All your riches wait in placeFor me to borrowOn the morrow.Do you hear this praise of you,Little park that I pass through?
Little park that I pass through,I carry off a piece of youEvery morning hurrying downTo my work-day in the town;Carry you for country thereTo make the city ways more fair.I take your trees,And your breeze,Your greenness,Your cleanness,Some of your shade, some of your sky,Some of your calm as I go by;Your flowers to trimThe pavements grim;Your space for room in the jostled streetAnd grass for carpet to my feet.Your fountains take and sweet bird callsTo sing me from my office walls.All that I can seeI carry off with me.But you never miss my theft,So much treasure you have left.As I find you, fresh at morning,So I find you, home returning—Nothing lacking from your grace.All your riches wait in placeFor me to borrowOn the morrow.
Little park that I pass through,
I carry off a piece of you
Every morning hurrying down
To my work-day in the town;
Carry you for country there
To make the city ways more fair.
I take your trees,
And your breeze,
Your greenness,
Your cleanness,
Some of your shade, some of your sky,
Some of your calm as I go by;
Your flowers to trim
The pavements grim;
Your space for room in the jostled street
And grass for carpet to my feet.
Your fountains take and sweet bird calls
To sing me from my office walls.
All that I can see
I carry off with me.
But you never miss my theft,
So much treasure you have left.
As I find you, fresh at morning,
So I find you, home returning—
Nothing lacking from your grace.
All your riches wait in place
For me to borrow
On the morrow.
Do you hear this praise of you,Little park that I pass through?
Do you hear this praise of you,
Little park that I pass through?
I have heard them in the night—The cry of their fear,Because there is no light,Because they do not hearFamiliar sounds and feel the familiar arm,And they awake alone.Yet they have never knownDanger or harm.What is their dread?—This dark about their bed?But they are so lately comeOut of the dark wombWhere they were safely kept.That blackness was good;And the silence of that solitudeWherein they sleptWas kind.Where did they findKnowledge of death?Caution of darkness and cold?These—of the little, new breath—Have they a prudence so old?
I have heard them in the night—The cry of their fear,Because there is no light,Because they do not hearFamiliar sounds and feel the familiar arm,And they awake alone.Yet they have never knownDanger or harm.What is their dread?—This dark about their bed?But they are so lately comeOut of the dark wombWhere they were safely kept.That blackness was good;And the silence of that solitudeWherein they sleptWas kind.Where did they findKnowledge of death?Caution of darkness and cold?These—of the little, new breath—Have they a prudence so old?
I have heard them in the night—The cry of their fear,Because there is no light,Because they do not hearFamiliar sounds and feel the familiar arm,And they awake alone.Yet they have never knownDanger or harm.What is their dread?—This dark about their bed?But they are so lately comeOut of the dark wombWhere they were safely kept.That blackness was good;And the silence of that solitudeWherein they sleptWas kind.Where did they findKnowledge of death?Caution of darkness and cold?These—of the little, new breath—Have they a prudence so old?
I have heard them in the night—
The cry of their fear,
Because there is no light,
Because they do not hear
Familiar sounds and feel the familiar arm,
And they awake alone.
Yet they have never known
Danger or harm.
What is their dread?—
This dark about their bed?
But they are so lately come
Out of the dark womb
Where they were safely kept.
That blackness was good;
And the silence of that solitude
Wherein they slept
Was kind.
Where did they find
Knowledge of death?
Caution of darkness and cold?
These—of the little, new breath—
Have they a prudence so old?
Are you awake? Do you hear the rain?How rushingly it strikes upon the ground,And on the roof, and the wet window-pane!Sometimes I think it is a comfortable sound,Making us feel how safe and snug we are:Closing us off in this dark, away from the dark outside.The rest of the world seems dim tonight, mysterious and far.Oh, there is no world left! Only darkness, darkness stretching wideAnd full of the blind rain’s immeasurable fall!How nothing must we seem unto this ancient thing!How nothing unto the earth—and we so small!Oh, wake, wake!—do you not feel my hands cling?One day it will be raining as it rains tonight; the same wind blow—Raining and blowing on this house wherein we lie: but you and I—We shall not hear, we shall not ever know.O love, I had forgot that we must die.
Are you awake? Do you hear the rain?How rushingly it strikes upon the ground,And on the roof, and the wet window-pane!Sometimes I think it is a comfortable sound,Making us feel how safe and snug we are:Closing us off in this dark, away from the dark outside.The rest of the world seems dim tonight, mysterious and far.Oh, there is no world left! Only darkness, darkness stretching wideAnd full of the blind rain’s immeasurable fall!How nothing must we seem unto this ancient thing!How nothing unto the earth—and we so small!Oh, wake, wake!—do you not feel my hands cling?One day it will be raining as it rains tonight; the same wind blow—Raining and blowing on this house wherein we lie: but you and I—We shall not hear, we shall not ever know.O love, I had forgot that we must die.
Are you awake? Do you hear the rain?How rushingly it strikes upon the ground,And on the roof, and the wet window-pane!Sometimes I think it is a comfortable sound,Making us feel how safe and snug we are:Closing us off in this dark, away from the dark outside.The rest of the world seems dim tonight, mysterious and far.Oh, there is no world left! Only darkness, darkness stretching wideAnd full of the blind rain’s immeasurable fall!
Are you awake? Do you hear the rain?
How rushingly it strikes upon the ground,
And on the roof, and the wet window-pane!
Sometimes I think it is a comfortable sound,
Making us feel how safe and snug we are:
Closing us off in this dark, away from the dark outside.
The rest of the world seems dim tonight, mysterious and far.
Oh, there is no world left! Only darkness, darkness stretching wide
And full of the blind rain’s immeasurable fall!
How nothing must we seem unto this ancient thing!How nothing unto the earth—and we so small!Oh, wake, wake!—do you not feel my hands cling?One day it will be raining as it rains tonight; the same wind blow—Raining and blowing on this house wherein we lie: but you and I—We shall not hear, we shall not ever know.O love, I had forgot that we must die.
How nothing must we seem unto this ancient thing!
How nothing unto the earth—and we so small!
Oh, wake, wake!—do you not feel my hands cling?
One day it will be raining as it rains tonight; the same wind blow—
Raining and blowing on this house wherein we lie: but you and I—
We shall not hear, we shall not ever know.
O love, I had forgot that we must die.
Oh, beautiful are the flowers of your garden,The flowers of your garden are fair:Blue flowers of your eyesAnd dusk flower of your hair;Dew flower of your mouthAnd peony-budded breasts,And the flower of the curve of your handWhere my hand rests.
Oh, beautiful are the flowers of your garden,The flowers of your garden are fair:Blue flowers of your eyesAnd dusk flower of your hair;Dew flower of your mouthAnd peony-budded breasts,And the flower of the curve of your handWhere my hand rests.
Oh, beautiful are the flowers of your garden,The flowers of your garden are fair:Blue flowers of your eyesAnd dusk flower of your hair;Dew flower of your mouthAnd peony-budded breasts,And the flower of the curve of your handWhere my hand rests.
Oh, beautiful are the flowers of your garden,
The flowers of your garden are fair:
Blue flowers of your eyes
And dusk flower of your hair;
Dew flower of your mouth
And peony-budded breasts,
And the flower of the curve of your hand
Where my hand rests.
SINCE I HAVE FELT THE SENSE OF DEATH
Since I have felt the sense of death,Since I have borne its dread, its fear—Oh, how my life has grown more dearSince I have felt the sense of death!Sorrows are good, and cares are small,Since I have known the loss of all.Since I have felt the sense of death,And death forever at my side—Oh, how the world has opened wideSince I have felt the sense of death!My hours are jewels that I spend,For I have seen the hours end.Since I have felt the sense of death,Since I have looked on that black night—My inmost brain is fierce with lightSince I have felt the sense of death.O dark, that made my eyes to see!O death, that gave my life to me!
Since I have felt the sense of death,Since I have borne its dread, its fear—Oh, how my life has grown more dearSince I have felt the sense of death!Sorrows are good, and cares are small,Since I have known the loss of all.Since I have felt the sense of death,And death forever at my side—Oh, how the world has opened wideSince I have felt the sense of death!My hours are jewels that I spend,For I have seen the hours end.Since I have felt the sense of death,Since I have looked on that black night—My inmost brain is fierce with lightSince I have felt the sense of death.O dark, that made my eyes to see!O death, that gave my life to me!
Since I have felt the sense of death,Since I have borne its dread, its fear—Oh, how my life has grown more dearSince I have felt the sense of death!Sorrows are good, and cares are small,Since I have known the loss of all.
Since I have felt the sense of death,
Since I have borne its dread, its fear—
Oh, how my life has grown more dear
Since I have felt the sense of death!
Sorrows are good, and cares are small,
Since I have known the loss of all.
Since I have felt the sense of death,And death forever at my side—Oh, how the world has opened wideSince I have felt the sense of death!My hours are jewels that I spend,For I have seen the hours end.
Since I have felt the sense of death,
And death forever at my side—
Oh, how the world has opened wide
Since I have felt the sense of death!
My hours are jewels that I spend,
For I have seen the hours end.
Since I have felt the sense of death,Since I have looked on that black night—My inmost brain is fierce with lightSince I have felt the sense of death.O dark, that made my eyes to see!O death, that gave my life to me!
Since I have felt the sense of death,
Since I have looked on that black night—
My inmost brain is fierce with light
Since I have felt the sense of death.
O dark, that made my eyes to see!
O death, that gave my life to me!