I have minded me
Of the noon-day brightness,
And the crickets' drowsy
Singing in the sunshine. . . .
I have minded me
Of the slim marsh-grasses
That the winds at twilight,
Dying, scarcely ripple. . . .
And I cannot sleep.
I have minded me
Of a lily-pond,
Where the waters sway
All the moonlit leaves
And the curled long stems. . . .
And I cannot sleep.
ROSE-MARY OF THE ANGELS
Little Sister Rose-Marie,
Will thy feet as willing-light
Run through Paradise, I wonder,
As they run the blue skies under,
Willing feet, so airy-light?
Little Sister Rose-Marie,
Will thy voice as bird-note clear
Lift and ripple over Heaven
As its mortal sound is given,
Swift bird-voice, so young and clear?
How God will be glad of thee,
Little Sister Rose-Marie!