Not an idler in the street,
But is better off to-day.
Not a traveller you meet,
But has something wise to say.
Now there's not a road too long,
Not a day that is not good,
Not a mile but hears a song
Lifted from the misty wood.
Down along the Silvermine
That's the blackbird's cheerful note!
You can see him flash and shine
With the scarlet on his coat.
Now the winds are soft with rain,
And the twilight has a spell,
Who from gladness could refrain
Or with olden sorrows dwell?
White Iris
White Iris was a princess
In a kingdom long ago,
Mysterious as moonlight
And silent as the snow.
She drew the world in wonder
And swayed it with desire,
Ere Babylon was builded
Or a stone laid in Tyre.
Yet here within my garden
Her loveliness appears,
Undimmed by any sorrow
Of all the tragic years.
How kind that earth should treasure
So beautiful a thing—
All mystical enchantment,
To stir our hearts in spring!