My Lady's birthday crowns the growing year;
A flower of Spring before the Spring is here;
To sing of her and this fair day to keep
The very Loves forsake their Winter sleep;
Where'er she goes their circling wings they spread,
And shower celestial roses o'er her head.
I, too, would chant her worth and dare to raise
A hymn to what's beyond immortal praise.
Go, little verse, and lay in vesture meet
Of poesy, my homage at her feet.
Henry Simpson [1868-
"LOVE, I MARVEL WHAT YOU ARE"
Love, I marvel what you are!
Heaven in a pearl of dew,
Lilies hearted with a star—
All are you.
Spring along your forehead shines
And the summer blooms your breast.
Graces of autumnal vines
Round you rest.
Birds about a limpid rose
Making song and light of wing
While the warm wind sunny blows,—
So you sing.
Darling, if the little dust,
That I know is merely I,
Have availed to win your trust,
Let me die.
Trumbull Stickney [1874-1904]