BLOOMING.
A little seed lay underneath the ground,
While from the south a mild wind-current blew,
And from the tropics to the northward flew
Long, angular lines of wild-fowl with a sound
Of silken wings. About that time the sun
Put forth a shining finger, and did stir
The sleeping soil to effort; whereupon
The seed made roots like webs of gossamer,
Shot up a stem, and flourished leaf and flower.
Now look, O sweet! see what your eyes have done
With just one ray of their mysterious power
Upon the germ of my heart's passion thrown!
Through all my frame steal roots of pure desire:
My dreams are blooms that shake and shine like fire.
MAURICE THOMPSON