I am not of the cloud nor mold,
I move between the stars and flowers,
I know the tingling touch of hours
When all the storms of night unfold.
Within the wind world drifting free
I hear naught of earth’s murmurings,
Naught but the sound of songs and wings
Among the tree-tops comes to me.
At night earth stars flash out below,
And heaven stars shine out above;
I look down on the lights of love,
And feel the higher love-lights glow.
At the Window
HOW thick about the window of my life
Buzz insect-like the tribe of petty frets:
Small cares, small thoughts, small trials, and small strife,
Small loves and hates, small hopes and small regrets.
If ’mid this swarm of smallnesses remain
A single undimmed spot, with wondering eye
I note before my freckled window-pane
The outstretched splendor of the earth and sky.
Come Back Again
CHILD-thoughts, child-thoughts, come back again!
Faint, fitful, as you used to be;
The dusty chambers of my brain
Have need of your fair company,
As when my child-head reached the height
Of the wild rose-bush at the door,
And all of heaven and its delight
Bloomed in the flow’rs the old bush bore.