Rest
FROM the depths of dreams I am drawn
To the inner depth of a pine,
That near my window keeps the dawn—
A dawn that is wholly mine.
Dream-rest and pine-rest,
And a cool, gray path between—
A cool, gray path from the night’s breast
To the heart of the living green.
To the depths of dreams I go
On the sounds of falling rain,
That in the night-time gently flow
In a stream on my window-pane.
Stream-rest and dream-rest,
And a cool, dark path between—
A cool, dark path from the rain’s breast
To the heart of the soft unseen.
The Shy Sun
THE sun went with me to the wood,
And lingered at the door;
One glance he gave from where he stood,
But dared not venture more,
Nor knew that in the heart of her
Who felt his presence nigh,
His love was all the lovelier
Because his look was shy.